


Rewrite the Stars

by CanonAryanna



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-04-23 16:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14336163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanonAryanna/pseuds/CanonAryanna
Summary: A fanfiction dedicated to the adventures of a young Padawan, her Master and their clone troopers. Follow Aryanna Mendoza as she tries to find her place in this new and unknown world of war she found herself in just days after the first battle of Geonosis.





	1. Chapter 1

Knighting. 

An ancient ritual dating back to the beginning of the Jedi Order. 

A ceremony each youngling looked forward to—and prepared for—from the moment they first heard of it during their time in the Temple. 

It was a ceremony of great honor and even greater anticipation, one that allowed every Padawan to find their rightful place in the Order. It was probably the biggest moment in every apprentice’s life. A moment of mysticality, of pride and respect. 

From an early age, every youngling learned about the rite, its origins, its evolution, and its current form. They were prepared for the Jedi Trials, difficult tests for the body, mind and soul—tests not every apprentice would pass with their life. And how after those trials they would be to be sent to the Tranquility Spire to meditate and clear their mind of every hardship that could corrupt them. 

But it was the day following all the preparation that most younglings cared about: the summoning to the Room of Knighthood. A darkened chamber that most Padawans stumbled into, following only their senses towards the center of the room where they would kneel respectfully before the Masters. Every youngling’s eyes sparkled when hearing the first time how the Masters would ignite their lightsabers in unison and salute the new Knight, a gesture of solemn regard in recognition of their hard work. The Grandmaster of the Council would then mark the traditional ceremony by lowering their lightsaber above the Padawan’s shoulders, just until they felt the heat, and slicing off their braid. The braid was a symbol of knowledge and dedication, and to have it cut off was the ultimate reward for years of perseverance. 

This ritual was a dream for most younglings, something they’d look forward to and strive diligently towards. Something they’d rehearse in their chambers in the middle of the night, long after the lights had been turned off. A fantasy that kept them motivated throughout their lives as humble students. 

A fantasy that burst like a bubble upon a thorn when this war with the Separatists began and the Jedi were tasked with leading armies of sizes unknown since the ‘old days.’ It was a legacy most had only read about in dusted scrolls, as for centuries the Jedi had served as negotiators, not soldiers. But this conflict was unforgiving the moment it started, demanding the Jedi abandon their traditions and their principles. 

And even though this war was only a few days old, Jedi and Padawan were dropping like flies, perishing at every wrong turn in this bizarre role as generals of an army they hadn’t even known about, assuming their roles sometimes mere hours before the outbreak of the battles that would bring their doom. 

The intense fighting also meant that countless Padawans who had lost their Masters were suddenly proclaimed Knights, stepping wide-eyed and uncertain into the boots of their slaughtered mentors. Even worse, those same new Knights had to take on Padawans of their own to instruct while still coming to terms with their own confused grief. 

Such was the fate of Aryanna Mendoza and Ilya Macau as they were summoned to a cliff in the middle of the night on a rather peaceful spot of Geonosis. 

With them came at least a dozen other younglings and even more Padawans. Aryanna, a sixteen-year-old Pantoran hybrid, stood with the younglings on one side of the secured area, while Ilya, a towering, well-built Zabrak, stood on the other side with the Padawans. 

Ilya was about to be knighted and would take Aryanna as their student. The two had know each other for years ... but suddenly they felt like strangers. 

Aryanna cast her deep blue eyes along the row of younglings next to her. She was by far the oldest, most of her fellows barely twelve or thirteen, the oldest age to become a Padawan. 

The Jedi must have truly lost their principles, she thought, to send children into war. 

But as her eyes wandered further, towards the clone troopers she had never seen before, she spotted some Padawans of her own age with whom she had learned and trained as a youngling. It chilled her to think that they too had already lost their Masters. 

Aryanna’s eyes found Ilya. The usually bright and smiling Zabrak looked grim and hurt. All of their dreams had shattered, all the preparation for their knighting in the Room of Knighthood gone. She could sense their disappointment, the feeling of betrayal inside them. She felt the same—she would have wanted something better for them. But Ilya had lost their Master, a woman they had both known since Aryanna was born. Master Teagan Cammi had died in Ilya’s arms. And now with these memories Ilya was being asked to lead their own battalion of clone troopers and mentor Aryanna. 

They looked over at her and for a second Aryanna could see the fear in their uneven eyes, the left blinded from a burn that mottled their entire side. Then they smiled faintly before their face hardened again and they looked back at the Master in charge of this pseudo ceremony. 

Aryanna watched as Ilya removed of their Padawan jewelry. Since they didn’t have hair, they had worn jewelry around their horns since the age of twelve. It was strange to see them without it. They handed it to the Master who threw it into a fire tray—also untraditional for the Jedi, but needs must. Ilya bowed before the Master and then made their way over to Aryanna, their steps strong and straight, though she could feel their pain. 

As they got closer, she felt a tingle in her chest and the shift on Ilya’s face told her that they felt it too. It was as if the Force wanted to give them strength, to remind them that they still had each other. Aryanna smiled at them and bowed deeply into the mutual respect that flowed between them. 

“Master Macau,” she said, straightening again.

“Padawan Aryanna, are you ready?” Ilya asked and held out their hand, which she slowly took with a smile. 

“I hope I will serve you well, Master. Please teach me all you know.”

Ilya gave her a firm nod and together they left the site. It was hard to leave behind all those younglings to unknown fates and unknown Masters and knowing that she probably wouldn’t see many of them ever again.

Their way led Ilya and Aryanna over to a gunship guarding the area. A clone wearing a pauldron saluted them. 

“CC-2569, Lieutenant Thorn, sirs,” he declared, his back straight and his voice strong. “Unit 275, I’m in here Captain Cecil’s stead. He’s recovering from his wounds.”

Aryanna voiced her concern before she had time to stop herself. “What happened to him?”

Lieutenant Thorn looked at her, tilting his head a little in assessment. It was difficult to tell if she’d offended him when she couldn’t see his face. 

“Got his leg bombed off, Commander, it will take him some time to recover.” 

_Commander_. It sounded so foreign to her. Along with _Padawan_ it was the strangest thing to be called now. But Ilya had it worse—with the title of _General_ , all responsibility rested on their shoulders. 

“I will see to him in the medbay later then … I, uh … I have some medical training,” she babbled, only falling silent when she noticed her new Master staring at her. 

Ilya looked back at Thorn. “Let’s get out of here and we’ll finish introductions later. I’ve had enough of this rock.” 

The lieutenant nodded and stepped aside to the ship. “Follow me then, sirs.” 

He led the way inside and Ilya and Aryanna stepped in after him into a small group of troopers. They nodded and offered salutes and Aryanna gave them all a smile. Then the pilot closed the shutters and the gunship lifted off the ground with an unusual vibration. Her hand shot up to the railing so she wouldn’t immediately drop on her arse and she blushed in the dark red light that filled the tight space. 

She took a moment to glance at the armored men around her. It was strange, and a bit terrifying, to be surrounded by men whose faces she hadn’t yet seen, but who were all the same height, had the same stature, and wore the same, shining white armor from head to toe. And even more disconcerting was the knowledge that these soldiers Ilya and Aryanna would now command were clones. An army of clones. They all shared the same face—the face of a bounty hunter according to some, their accent a thick Mandalorian as they conversed quietly with each other.

… though Aryanna very much doubted any of them had ever been to Mandalore.

She counted seven in total, but besides Lieutenant Thorn she couldn’t tell them apart at all. They all towered over her by a head—and their muscled frames draped in plastoid made them almost as twice as wide. It was a little intimidating for the sixteen year old, but she wouldn’t show it. One of them caught her staring and she quickly averted her eyes. She felt awkward dropped into this strange new world of war with men she barely knew by her side. 

But at least they were on her side. 

Looking up again she found the same man still observing her and she smiled faintly before he looked away to another trooper. Aryanna quietly promised herself to see these men as her equals, and most importantly—though they were clones—as individuals. _They couldn’t all be the same._

“Nervous, Commander?” the same trooper asked, shaking her out of her thoughts like a ripe apple from a tree. His voice was surprisingly warm and gentle.

She nodded. “Sort of … it’s all new to me,” she admitted and combed a hand through her short pink hair. “I’ve only just been named a Padawan, so this is all strange—especially all the new titles. _Commander_ … I never thought I’d be called such a thing.”

The clone chuckled and some of the others had clearly started to listen as well. One to the right of the first trooper patted his shoulder. “Well, it’s all new to us as well, Commander. The real field experience is something different than what we learned during training.” 

“But don’t worry, sir,” chimed a third, “we are trained to protect you and the General and we’ll do our best to keep you out of harm's way.” His pride in his own abilities went some way to ease her worry. 

In fact, they all sounded proud. Proud of what they were doing, proud of what they were. 

Aryanna smiled at them and said softly, “Thank you.”

 _Trained to protect her and Ilya_. Jedi learned how to defend themselves almost as soon as they learned of the Knighting ritual. Something in her doubted that these men were trained to protect them, but rather to act as their living shields, and guilt shot through her. 

Men bred as blaster-fodder. It fit what she had seen on the battlefield when she had arrived on Geonosis. White-clad corpses everywhere … but their numbers never waning. 

If that was the case, Aryanna would not accept it. These men were living beings like her.

Ilya watched Aryanna talking to the clones, apparently not bothered by it it. They seemed to be elsewhere with their thoughts, maybe even mourning the loss of their Master now that things were finally calming down. 

Lieutenant Thorn snaked his way through his men over to Aryanna, reaching up to the railing to steady himself. “So, you’re a medic?” he asked and she nodded, patting the bag by her hip, filled to burst with medical supplies: bacta, painkillers, anesthetics, oxygen masks, bandages and anything else. 

“Yeah, I’m more a healer than a field medic, but it’s mostly equal,” she told him and he gave a slow nod. “I perform surgeries if needed, but most importantly I heal with the Force.” She noticed his body tensing a little, and it made her wonder what he’d actually been taught of the Force itself. Probably very little. 

“Healing with the Force?” he repeated. “Isn’t that stuff like … magic?” 

She chuckled. Ilya seemed to have heard too and shook their head slowly. “The Force seems like magic to most who aren’t familiar with it,” the Knight said and Thorn looked at them. “It’s an energy that binds every living being in the galaxy and some who are sensitive to it—the Jedi for example—are able to channel it.” Thorn nodded slowly.

“There’s a rare form of Force ability, which allows a person to heal with its aid. Those who possess it become healers,” Aryanna added with a smile. “It’s what I became. It’s … not easy to explain, but let’s hope I never have to try it on _you_.” 

“Because it hurts?” he asked. 

She shook her head. “No, because you’d have to be injured in the first place and that is something I wish for no one.” 

A clone in the back chuckled darkly. “We’re at war, Commander, people will get hurt every day.” His voice sounded a bit rougher than the others’.

“I agree. Still, I can hope for as few casualties as possible.” 

She didn’t wish pain on anyone—not even her worst enemies, few as those were. Aryanna was mainly a healer, a diplomat, not a warrior. If there was conflict, she wished to talk it out, not make it worse through violence. But that would hardly be possible in this war. 

She looked up at Ilya and they gave her a reassuring smile and rested their large hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. They felt just as strange as her it seemed. “We’ll get used to this eventually. It will take us some time, but I hope that won’t be a problem,” they said quietly. 

“Not at all, sir. We’ll do our best to help you find your place,” said the Lieutenant. “But first, I’m sure you and the Commander will want to get accustomed to your new quarters and your cruiser, as well as the bridge and your commands?” 

Ilya blinked but then nodded. “Yes, one thing after the other. A small introduction would be nice first,” they suggested with an awkward little smile. 

Aryanna addressed Thorn. “Once all that is done, I want to see the medbay, as it will be one of my primary stations as a healer. I also would like to meet the Captain you mentioned earlier—Cecil. I believe you said that was his name?”

“I’d be happy to show you the way then, Commander,” said Thorn and she could hear the smile in his words. “But like the General said, one thing after the other.” 

Their LAAT/i carrier shook a little when the pilot throttled the engine. “We’ll land shortly,” he said over the on-board comm and Aryanna clung even tighter to the railing she could barely reach. Her core muscles flexed in a desperate attempt to remain upright. 

Some of the clones gently joked about adding lower railings for her, but then an awkward move of the transport sent their heads banging against it and she had to chuckle. She enjoyed their humor. In the end they were satisfied for her just to get used to this new mode of flying. 

They landed about three minutes after the pilot’s announcement, Aryanna’s stomach slightly clenched at the feeling of gravitational change. As close as the pull in the ship was similar to the one on a planet’s surface, it still felt strange.

The shutters swung open and bright light flooded the previously darkened transport. Aryanna pressed her eyelids together with a groan, but after a moment her bright blue eyes adjusted and she dared to look at their surroundings. 

It was a huge hangar, as high on its own as the great hall in the Jedi Temple back on Coruscant, but far longer. Gunships like their own, others with vehicles attached, and small starfighters lined the hangar in a neat formation. Blue-hued ray shields kept the oxygen inside the ship and she marvelled at the elongated flight deck. On the other side, to her surprise, was another similarly-sized hangar, with its overhead doors closed. 

“Woah,” sighed Aryanna. She had never been on a ship as large as this one. To her left she saw some ships being transported down, indicating that there was another level below this hangar. In the very back she could also make out a repair station.

And of course, amongst it all were more clones. 

Some wore grey uniforms while others worked in mechanics’ fatigues, and still others darted around in pilot helmets that revealed more of their identical faces. She was struck by their handsome appearance—tan skin and dark hair and eyes, high cheekbones and generous noses.

Whoever had chosen the Mandalorian bounty hunter as their genetic donor perhaps hadn’t picked him for his skills alone? 

The clones who’d been working in the hangar paused to gawk at the two new Jedi who were to be their commanding officers. 

Aryanna swallowed. These men would now be under her command, their lives in her hands, and they depended upon her decision-making just as much as Ilya’s. She glanced up at her Master, who seemed to realize that in the same moment too. Ilya, the tall, muscular Zabrak who in turn towered over the clones by a head, suddenly bowed deeply and Aryanna copied their movement. 

“My name is Ilya Macau, and from this day forward I will be your General,” they said loudly. “This is my Padawan, Aryanna Mendoza. She will be your Commander.” 

Aryanna felt the clones’ eyes on her and her whole body tensed. 

“I hope that we will work successfully together and that our combined decisions will always be in our favor. And may the Force be with us,” they finished and the clones who stood at attention saluted. The two Jedi straightened and Aryanna felt even more awkward than before, wondering if that speech had really been necessary. But the clones’ expressions said they might have been somewhat flattered. 

Lieutenant Thorn approached and gave them both a firm nod while a second clone at his side saluted respectfully. Aryanna immediately noticed that the Lieutenant had removed his helmet; his hair was long, bound in a tight bun at the top of his head so it fit under his helmet, and the right side of his face was tattooed with an intricate floral pattern. 

But she was immediately taken by his icy blue eyes. She glanced back at the other clones who had mostly shades of brown and gold … but blue? It was probably a genetic mistake that hadn’t been deemed ‘faulty’—and she liked it. 

The second clone at Thorn’s shoulder addressed them. “CT-4564, Sergeant Acrid, sirs, at your service. I’m the quartermaster and I’d like to introduce you to your personal squad of troopers,” he said, before removing his helmet, allowing Aryanna to compare the two men. 

Acrid’s hair was very short and he had some fancy decoration shaved into the side of his right temple. His golden eyes seemed to see everything, and he bore a stern and serious expression while Thorn’s lips constantly played around a soft smile. 

Aryanna looked up at Ilya, who was just as surprised as her, before returning to Acrid with great curiosity. “ _Personal squad?_ ” 

“Yes, Commander. A squad of highly trained and qualified troopers who will be your closest in combat. They will be under your command as well as Lieutenant Thorn’s—and Captain Cecil’s, once he recovered from his injuries. They are assigned to your protection, as well as military support, since you are fairly new to these roles you’ve been given.” His explanation made some kind of sense and she nodded. “Captain Cecil is the highest ranking officer over your battalion, the 275th. Whenever you’re not around, the battalion acts on his commands. And while he is off duty Lieutenant Thorn carries that responsibility.”

Thorn nodded and spread his hands. “Like I mentioned earlier … but now to your troopers.”

A group of troopers aligned themselves before the two Jedi. They removed their helmets and fitted them under their arms, standing at attention, backs straight, chins raised.

“Sound off, soldiers!” the Sergeant ordered.

Aryanna was fascinated how various hairstyles and tattoos could make the same face look so different. Except for the shape of their features, none of these men looked alike. Their voices varied too and she recognized those of the troopers from the gunship. 

Each stepped forward as they introduced themselves, number first, then name if they had one. The first two were the ARF-troopers CT-06-1753 and CT-06-1806, or Foxtrot and Nova as they called themselves. Aryanna recognized the warm and gentle voice of Foxtrot and Nova’s cheerful one. Foxtrot had short buzzed hair on the sides, standard cut on top and dark green eyes, a long scar crossing his right eyebrow and another smaller on his right temple. Nova, on the other hand, was completely bald, his eyes as black as night, but with wide grin on his face. He was a bit rounder than the other troopers, Aryanna noticed, and his cheeks were less defined, his chest more broad.

Next to introduce themselves was a heavy gunner with slicked hair, CT-3008, and a demolitions expert with a buzz cut, CT-2003—both of whom claimed they didn’t have names yet, which Aryanna thought odd—and the medic, CT-1985, who styled himself Robyn and bore a _resh_ on his left cheek to prove it. And she’d seen a fair number of tattoos thus far, but Robyn’s earring was a mode of self-expression she hadn’t yet seen on any other clone. 

Robyn explained that while his comrades may not have named _themselves_ , everyone called them Joker and Bat, which made CT-3008/Joker roll his cool brown eyes (such that he could with his permanent scowl), while CT-2003/Bat smiled fondly at Robyn, his golden eyes darting eagerly between the medic and his new Commander. 

Following behind were two more troopers who started to make introductions of their own, but something else caught Aryanna’s eye. 

It was a man walking on crutches, his handsome face marred by a pained expression. 

He walked slowly, carefully making his way towards their group. His sturdy, muscular frame was dressed in red fatigues she hadn’t seen before. Silver eyes met hers and he gave a weak smile—or was it a grimace? His hair was neatly shaved, stripes buzzed into the sides, two on the right, one on the left, and a beard on his chin framed his face nicely. He was a bit paler than the others and sweat ran down his temples. Aryanna noticed immediately that he was pain—she could feel it. 

When he finally reached them, Aryanna felt a little guilty for not giving the other two the attention they deserved. She hadn’t caught their names, just their roles: a sniper and spotter, an inseparable duo by the sound of it. 

“CC-2989, Captain Cecil, sirs,” the newcomer introduced himself. His voice was low and warm, and there was something deeply respectful about it. “Welcome aboard the Valkyrie.” 

_Valkyrie_. So that was the name of their cruiser. Ilya chuckled while Aryanna stared with concern at the Captain. When the other troopers noticed their officer, they looked shocked—if not a little irritated—to see him. Obviously they hadn’t expected him.

“I wanted to welcome you myself … but as you see, I had to get a new leg first,” he said, excusing himself with a pained laugh. His left leg was wrapped in bacta bandages from the middle of his thigh down to his ankle. She could just barely see the metal foot peeking out under the thick layers of bandages. 

“We heard what happened to you, Captain. My apologies,” Ilya said softly. 

Cecil just shook his head and shrugged. “War injuries … we’ll see more of these as this war progresses, sir.” He seemed chillingly calm about the loss of his limb. 

“Let’s hope not on _you_ , Captain,” Ilya sighed.

Aryanna found herself staring at his leg, her medical instincts yearning to order him back to bed.

“Commander Mendoza, good to meet you as well,” he smiled, his gentle voice bringing her back to the present. 

She returned the smile, a small blush rising to her cheeks when she noticed she had drifted off. “The pleasure is mine, Captain, but as a medic, I’d advise you to get back to the medbay as quickly as possible … you look like you’re in great discomfort.” 

Cecil’s eyes widened. “Medic? That’s unexpected. Didn’t know Jedi had medics too … hope you’re not feeling too useless then, Robyn,” he laughed, although unable to mask a wince. “No, sir. I’m good. As your Captain, I want to show you around.” 

Some of the other troopers also looked a bit troubled. He had lost a leg earlier—and with it probably a lot of blood. He was pale as death and breathing hard. Yet here he was, waltzing around as if nothing was wrong, trying his best to make a good impression on his new General and Commander, but only harming himself. 

Ilya stepped forward. “You made a great impression, Captain. But I agree with my Padawan and ask you to go back to the medbay and heal. I will need you fully functional again as soon as possible, which won’t happen if you get an infection,” they said calmly. “Please, let Robyn assist you back to the medbay. My Padawan will come around later to have a thorough look at our latest casualties.”

Aryanna frowned. _My Padawan_. She had a name—or had Ilya already forgotten that?

“Not happy with my replacement then?” Cecil asked. 

“On the contrary, Captain. But a team isn’t functional without every member. So please, get some rest,” Ilya ordered again. 

Cecil’s smile faded and his whole person seemed to sag. But he accepted his fate and let Robyn guide him back to the medbay. It distressed Aryanna to see the Captain in so much pain and she determined to pay him a visit later.

Thorn approached the Jedi and gave them a soft nod. “Sirs, if you’d like a tour now, I’d be more than happy to show you around.” Aryanna and Ilya shared a long look before Ilya eventually nodded. 

“Yes, please,” said Ilya, moving their hands behind their back and giving a short, respectful bow. “Please, Lieutenant, lead the way.” 

Thorn nodded and started to head out of the hangar. Ilya and Aryanna followed along, and the other troopers, helmets replaced, trailed behind them. It felt like an escort and a shiver ran down Aryanna’s spine. 

This would take a while to get used to.

“I’m sorry about Captain Cecil, sir,” Thorn said, sounding deeply worried. “He was looking forward to this meeting when we were informed we’d be getting our General today, but then … Geonosis happened.” 

Aryanna shook her head. “He wanted to show how seriously he takes his duty and that’s admirable. But he’s in obvious pain and should rest.” Thorn looked sideways at her. “So there is nothing to apologize for, it’s not like he embarrassed anyone … in fact, I’m impressed by his determination.” 

Thorn nodded and cleared his throat before letting the topic slide. 

“You’ve probably guessed that we’re in the hangar,” he began in a tone of some pride. “We’re currently on deck one at the bow of the ship. There are two more decks below us, as well as two more above at the ship’s stern. That is where the bridge is positioned.” 

He led the way to one of the lifts. “These lead down to the lower level of the hangar. Up here are the ARC-170s, as well as the new V-fighters and LAAT/i carriers. Once they’re finished, your own fighters will be on this level too, albeit on the port side.”

Thorn went on to explain the mid-sized dual laser cannons on either side of the hangar doors on this level that protected the craft inside, but Aryanna’s mind was already parsecs away. 

_Their own fighters!_

She hadn’t flown in years, but she used to love it. She wasn’t the best engineer, but she still enjoyed the rest of it. The piloting. It was something else to be in control of her own flight, rather than having to trust another pilot. She preferred it that way.

They took one of the lifts down with the carrier they had arrived in, the pilots jumping out, waving the Jedi a jaunty salute and dashing off before it had even reached the ground. Aryanna gave them a fond smile and followed Thorn’s lead into the lower deck.

“Down here are the walkers, the AT-TEs,” he said, gesturing towards the stout mechanical beasts, six-legged and heavily armed, apparently capable of carrying up to twenty troopers and even scale vertical walls without a problem. 

“And naturally, the barracks would be in close proximity to the hangar…” Thorn continued, leading them into the warren of rooms that housed almost 7400 troopers, just as many as Ilya now commanded. Almost a legion. Aryanna saw her Master swallow hard at that. 

So many lives depended on them now. 

“What kind of ship is the Valkyrie, actually?” Ilya asked. 

Thorn looked back at the General and smiled. “She’s a Venator class, sir. We also call her an attack cruiser. 1155 meters long, well fit for ship-to-ship combat as well as protective escort duty.”

Ilya nodded slowly before murmuring to themselves, “Who built so many ships of this scale in ten years…?”

The question stumped Aryanna too. _Ten years?_ This entire army—the weaponry, the armor, the vehicles, the cruisers and ships and everything that went with them—had been ten years in the making? She went a little pale, but said nothing.

They made a large loop around the barracks over to the other side of the hangar, passing through the lines of V-wings which the clones would pilot in open space battle. Passing another shield generator and the recycling station, they reached the ship’s stern. Another hangar that would eventually hold civilian transports or captured enemy fighters was the heart of the cruiser. To Aryanna’s surprise, it was flanked on the starboard side by a registration and administration office for passengers and civilians, and passenger control on the port side. It was fascinating to see to what extent this cruiser was laid out—not only for combat and escorts, but for passengers as well, most likely refugees, who would all have to be registered. 

Thorn paused when they passed two more side hangars, which he pointed out held most of the escape pods—too far away from the barracks for Aryanna’s taste. 

“The stern is mainly machinery, there’s really nothing else there. So we’ll go to the upper deck again,” Thorn said, leading the way to a lift.

One of the other troopers chuckled. It was Nova, as cheerful as before, who answered her unasked question as she fell in beside him. 

“He doesn’t like to mention that the recreation area is also back there,” he said in a low voice. 

“Why not?” she asked. 

Nova shrugged. “Probably cause he wants to be all _protocol_.”

“But that can’t be bad … what do you do there?”

Foxtrot joined her other side. “Mostly relax while we’re off duty—watch holos, listen to music, play darts and cards, bet what few credits we have. Whatever normal humans do.”

She cocked her head. _Normal humans_. They were normal. Just because they were clones didn’t mean that they couldn’t have hobbies, just because they were soldiers didn’t mean they had spare time. 

“I think that is a great way to relieve stress and maintain relationships,” she said with a soft smile. “I see no harm in that.”

A deep rumbling chuckle escaped Nova, and for a second it seemed as if he wanted to pat her shoulder, but he forced his hand back. “Then you’re welcome to join us sometime.”

Her smile widened. “That’d be nice, thank you,” she said as she picked up her pace to catch up with her Master as they exited the lift. 

Ilya glanced down and gave her a soft but stern look, probably a silent reminder of ‘the Jedi way.’ Not to get too attached. 

Aryanna willed herself to follow it. 

They had skipped the first deck and were now in the upper part of the ship. A large observatory overlooked the Valkyrie, which allowed them to see the sleek, dagger-shaped bow from above for the first time, its great central bay defended by more heavy gunnery. She looked to be finely carved out of red and grey durasteel. 

“This is quite a view,” Ilya said breathlessly as they stepped towards the viewport. 

Aryanna was taken by the stars. So many more than could be seen from a planet’s surface. Below them was the orange-brown surface of Geonosis, with its ice moon off to one side. It was strange to think that such a hostile planet, with its deadly sandstorms and heat, possessed a moon that was completely opposite, but no less deadly. 

“It really is,” Aryanna agreed, crossing her arms. “I think I could get used to to it.”

“Don’t be too excited about it yet, Aryanna. Soon we’ll be standing here ordering our troops into battle … watching them fight. And die,” Ilya reminded her.

Her smile faded. They would stand here and watch as their commands determined the fate of thousands of men. This huge responsibility threatened so much of her youthful certainty, and she sagged a little. Ilya was right. She couldn’t, _shouldn’t_ take this lightly. 

Sure, it was quite the view _now_ … but soon it would show them a far less peaceful vista. 

“Sirs, if I could take you to the bridge?” Thorn asked, catching both pensive Jedi off guard. 

“Yes, of course,” said Ilya. “Please, continue.”

They moved forward onto the flight control bridge. It was manned solely by clones who would take orders from the Jedi, inputting coordinates as well as initiating the hyperdrive. The port-side bridge on their left was the helm and command bridge, which Ilya and Aryanna would assume command over as soon as their tour concluded and they had a moment to settle in. From there they would give orders in combat, instigate aerial assaults, and control the entire ship. 

Thorn stepped up to Ilya. “As long as the Captain is off duty for recovery, I will do my best to work as efficiently as him and answer any of your questions, as well as aid you by relaying orders,” he said with a salute. “Unless you don’t want my help.”

Ilya slowly shook their horned head. “No, I’d greatly appreciate your help. I watched my master die because she didn’t know what to do—what orders to give. I don’t wish to make the same mistake.” 

Thorn blinked at them in surprise, so they continued. “I didn’t receive any military training, Lieutenant. You did. I’d be stupid not to accept your advice. You know the Valkyrie, the troopers, the weaponry, so please, assist me and my Padawan in these first weeks of this war until we get accustomed to it.”

Thorn straightened his back and gave a crisp nod. “With pleasure, sir,” he said with a proud smile, as if it meant a great deal to him that Ilya thought highly of their training. Of course they did. It would be foolish and naïve not to … and to believe that the Force alone would provide enough guidance, rather than the instincts and experience of a trained soldier. 

Aryanna wondered how many Jedi would agree. 

“Now, I’m sure you’d like to see your own quarters,” Thorn said, gesturing to Acrid. “Sergeant Acrid will show you the way. I will contact Robyn to catch you afterwards, Commander—to show you the medbay.” 

“Yes, thank you, Lieutenant,” she said and bowed her head in respect, delighted that he’d remembered. 

She approached Acrid, who tensed a little at her proximity, but he nodded in acknowledgement and stepped aside, allowing her to lead the way to the lift. Ilya followed a few steps behind, thanking Thorn again for the tour and requesting to be informed should orders arise. 

… which would probably be some time soon. Aryanna had a sneaking suspicion that their first mission would be something like securing a neutral planet and convincing them to join the Republic. She knew that such planets were especially important to _protect_. After all, the Separatists had long specialized in luring unsuspecting species under their rule, only to squash them under their boots like insects unworthy to live. 

The lift took them down to a lower level, right beneath the command bridges. Their quarters were adjacent to each other, their walls protected by a strong shield generator at the base of the towers. 

“General,” Acrid formally addressed the immensely-built Jedi who had their hands locked behind their back, chest proudly puffed. Their uneven onyx eyes wandered down to meet his visor and they smiled gently. The Sergeant seemed to take that as a prompt; he punched in a code and the door swished open. “Your quarters are to the left.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Ilya smiled and stepped inside before the door closed behind them. 

Aryanna noticed her Master wasn’t nearly as talkative as usual. Normally they loved to share stories and practically bowled people over with their endless rambling. But today they were transformed—like someone had swapped places with them and just wore their clothes and carried themselves in the same manner … but without the same easy confidence. 

Acrid tilted his helmet questioningly at Aryanna. “Are they always like this?” he asked and Aryanna shook her head. 

“No, never seen them like this before to be honest with you, Sergeant. They’re usually quite the opposite … but … they’ve just lost their Master.” She crossed her arms. “Give them a few hours, maybe a day, and they’ll be different, I promise. Mourning first; then command.” 

“Understood,” he mumbled before guiding her to the other door. He repeated the code and the door to her suite opened. 

“These would be your quarters, Commander. I hope you find them accommodating.” 

Aryanna barely had to look inside before she twirled around and beamed at him. 

“It’s more than that,” she chimed.

“Good to know.”

She smiled and inclined her head gratefully. 

“I will inform Robyn to fetch you in fifteen minutes. Will that be enough time, Commander?” Acrid asked. 

She nodded. “Yes, that would be perfect. Thank you.”

Acrid saluted her and closed the door at that, leaving her alone in her new home.

The room was so much bigger than her quarters back in the Temple, split in two by a grey curtain into a sitting area with grey couches, a low table and a tiny galley at the front, and a private area in the back. It was sparsely decorated however, the durasteel walls grey and unadorned. But it still looked comfortable. The light inside was much warmer than the cool, blue beams in the hallways. In here everything bore a faint yellow shimmer that was very soothing on the eyes.

And best of all, she had access to the HoloNet from a terminal beside her sizeable bed. 

A door to the right led to a private fresher, all the amenities of which surprised Aryanna, but she supposed it was necessary if she couldn’t share with the clones like she had with other Younglings. An unnecessary luxury, but an easy one to shrug off. 

She let herself fall onto the bed for a moment. It was a little uncomfortable and the blanket felt like flimsi. 

So along with all the titles and the armored men running around and escorting her, she’d also have to get used to … all this.

Aryanna sighed again, rolled onto her side and stared at the grey blanket. Grey blankets, grey curtains, grey couch, grey walls. Grey … everywhere was grey. She shivered. She’d have to bring in some color _eventually_ if this was really to be her home now. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the overwhelming day pass by again. She felt odd, not yet welcomed, but she hoped that would change soon. 

With her eyes shut, she didn’t notice when sleep slowly claimed her body.


	2. Chapter 2

A loud banging on the door jerked her awake. 

She groaned as her vision blurred and whitened and a high-pitched ringing shot through her head. She sat up slowly so as not to go dizzy, letting her feet dangle down the side of the bed before another loud knock echoed through her room. 

“Commander?” came a concerned man’s voice through the door. 

The voice sounded strange, unlike any she knew. Wasn’t she at the Temple? She was confused; this place smelled and sounded different — it felt different, heavy and at the same time … weightless, floating. 

She shook her head to clear the sensation of looking through milky transparisteel, and it wasn’t long before she could make out her surroundings and remembered where she was. 

The _Valkyrie_ , Venator-class cruiser; their new station, her new home. 

But then she spotted the grey curtains again. No, not quite home yet. Still bland and cold, even with the warm lightning flooding the room. 

She stood and had to brace herself on the wall with one hand. Her heart was still racing, trying frantically to get her circulation up and running like normal again. 

“Commander Mendoza, are you alright?” the man’s voice asked again and she recalled everything: her appointment with the Valkyrie’s medical officer, Robyn. The shy trooper who’d been with Joker and Bat earlier. She remembered that Sergeant Acrid had promised to send him to her. Had fifteen minutes passed already? 

“Yes, Robyn … I’ll be with you in a moment,” she called back after clearing a lump in her clogged throat. 

She hated this feeling. This feeling of not being the master over her own body, the feeling of her limbs shaking and heart racing like a tiny caged bird. She hated this with a passion that would have probably outraged most of the Grandmasters of the Jedi Council. Her right hand wandered to her chest and she managed to will her heart to calm down with two deep, mindful breaths. She stepped over to the kitchenette with care, poured herself a glass of water, downed it quickly, gave her pink hair a quick comb with her fingers, and headed for the door. 

It swished open and a very worried medic stood before her, helmet lodged under his arm. His mouth was half open, as if he’d been on the point of calling for her again, and his brows were pinched. She almost felt bad for putting him on edge.

“Commander, are you alright?” Robyn immediately asked and Aryanna nodded, feeling her cheeks flush and wondering if he’d notice the soft indigo hue. 

“Yeah, I’m alright, but I must admit I fell asleep,” she said sheepishly. “How long did I keep you waiting?”

“Just a few minutes, Commander, no worries,” said Robyn, waving her off with an awkward smile and stepping aside as she entered the hallway. 

“Really … how long?”

“Fifteen minutes or so. I chimed a few times, then decided to knock. I was about to get Sergeant Acrid to open the door for me, but then you finally answered,” he admitted and Aryanna’s cheeks only darkened more, the blush extending down her neck. “Are you sure you’re alright, Commander? You’re still a little pale.” He cocked his head to get a better view of her without getting too close.

She shook her head slowly, still feeling the blush. “I’m fine. I ... I suddenly felt tired and must’ve fallen asleep without noticing ... and sometimes when I do that I wake up and my whole body is out of control — you know, shaking, racing heart racing, blurry vision. It goes away quickly enough most of the time and only happens when … when there’s been a lot of activity. Which certainly was the case today.”

“It sounds like you’re stressed out,” Robyn commented. 

“I know that, I’ve learned to live with it so far. I’ve tried some things to combat it — meditation or just exercising a bit to get my blood pressure up again, but nothing’s ever really helped. It’s just something that happens from time to time … and again today was _eventful_. So many new things to take in and get used to. I think it’ll get better in a few days.” She gave him a soft smile and he nodded slowly. 

“Anyways, if it doesn’t you can talk to me, I might be able to help you,” the medic suggested.

“I will, thank you,” she said, bowing with newfound cheer. 

She caught him scratching the little tattoo on his left cheek. The skin around it was slightly swollen and red, so it was probably new. Tattoos seemed to be common among the clones, and a limitless number of hairstyles too; maybe it was a way to distinguish themselves from the others, but the armor didn’t really help. Could they recognize each other in full kit? 

He led the way towards the lifts and entered silently, punching in the desired destination: ground level, the top level of the hangar. Aryanna tried to remember where everything on this gigantic cruiser was. Robyn’s eyes flicked towards her as the lift started to descend. 

“How do like your quarters, Commander? And the ship in general?” he asked curiously, clearly interested to know the rest of her thoughts after he’d retired from their tour to escort Captain Cecil to the medbay. 

Aryanna smiled and let her eyes drift from his, amber and inquiring, and collected her thoughts, trying to find the right words and phrases for the impressions chasing each other through her head.

“It’s massive,” she blurted out. “The _Valkyrie_ , I mean. I’ve been on other ships before, but none of this size.” He nodded and she continued. “To think that there are over _seven thousand_ people aboard fascinates and scares me at the same time … but to be honest, I’m surprised there’s still so much room. I thought it’d be more crowded when Lieutenant Thorn mentioned how many troopers were stationed here.” 

Robyn chuckled. “You’ll change your mind about that soon enough, Commander. Back in our cadet days we had training sessions aboard with just a fraction of the full capacity and it quickly got crowded — especially in combat situations.” She hummed in response. “But by now we’re fairly organized, so it shouldn’t be as bad as back then.” 

“Hmm, that’ll be something to get used to too then … so much I never thought I’d face…” she murmured, trailing off. 

“You’ll get accustomed to it, sir. It will become normal for you after a while, I can guarantee you that,” he smiled. 

If she were honest, she didn’t _want_ this to be her new normal; she just hoped it would emerge that this war was just a big misunderstanding and end quickly.

But she knew she shouldn’t hope too fervently for that. 

She glanced at Robyn and considered him second. He seemed fairly introverted, compared to some of the other clones she had met earlier. She sensed that he had to parse his words carefully, of what to say to her and how. He tried to be formal, but at the same time friendly and comforting. It was also clear that he kept looking her over, that he was pondering her the same way she was him ... but that he also wasn’t used to have female humanoids around. At least, it seemed that way — she could be wrong. Her understanding of the clones that had been born and raised on Kamino was patchy. 

Aryanna hadn’t seen a Kaminoan in person before, but she had read the reports about them. Their long-necked, fragile, and elegant stature had fascinated her, how wildly they differed from most humanoid species in the galaxy. It must be weird for the clones to now encounter other species. Species that looked like them, but had various skin colors or additional physiological features, like her Master’s horns. 

“My quarters, however, will need a few adjustments before they will feel like home to me,” she continued, coming round to his second question. “They are bigger than my room at home on Coruscant, but very monotone.” 

She felt it was a bit presumptuous to criticize what had practically been _bestowed_ upon her, to judge from Thorn’s proud and dignified air during the tour. “I like them,” she added with a soft, shy smile, “but they’re still a little alien for my liking.” 

The lift came to a halt and Aryanna and Robyn stepped out, other troopers immediately saluting her as they passed. 

“Is this strange to you?” he asked, catching her off guard. 

“Very much so. Back at the Temple, we didn’t have troopers — at least not yet. We have Temple Guards, silent, masked Jedi who supervise the Temple at all times. But they don’t do much. Sure, they fight off intruders, but they don’t salute every Jedi who passes them. They are detached from everything around them; they are anonymous and forbidden to show personal traits … they’re all the same.”

Robyn took everything in with a nod. “Then us clones aren’t too different from them, hmm?”

“Yes … and no. The Guards are this one mass, all the same because they chose to be so. But with you I feel it’s different. I’ve already noticed different personalities; you may look the same, and for all that it will be challenging at first to learn to keep you apart, inside you’re completely individual,” she continued as another group of troopers saluted.

Robyn seemed surprised at her answer. He was probably expecting her to say they _were_ all the same. They were clones after all, carbon copies of one man. But Aryanna objected to that notion already. 

“What about you? Is it strange for you to see new species after growing up in isolation on Kamino?” she asked. He blinked at her, clearly not expecting her to level similar questions at him. He lowered his head before he answered.

“As a medic, I don’t find it that strange. I was tasked to learn about other species, especially their anatomy, for obvious reasons. So I’m familiar with most of the galaxy’s more prolific species,” he answered. 

“I assumed as much, but that’s not what I meant,” she corrected. “Do you find it strange to _interact_ with us? We are outsiders — we look and think differently.” 

Robyn’s eyes widened, then he glanced away. Unable to give her a spoken response, he just nodded. 

She let her arms slide behind her back, hands holding each other. “I don’t blame you. It’s the same for me. But I think that will change, the better we get to know each other.” He looked at her and she beamed back, at last managing to coax a responding smile from his handsome face.

“Let’s do our best then, Commander Mendoza,” he said, still sounding so very, very shy.

They took another lift down to the lower level aft of the hangar, approaching the barracks. The medbay was nearby, hidden in a nook beside the hangar, close enough to bring wounded from combat immediately inside. They turned the corner and she saw on the doors the same symbol Robyn wore on his chest: a red, circled aurebesh cross. Once at the doors, Robyn handed her a little card with the same symbol on it. 

“Don’t lose this, please. It will give you access to the medbay without having to enter the access code.” 

She nodded, sliding the card through a slit at the top of the door panel and it opened in response.

“Very handy in case of an emergency,” she nodded. 

“Indeed, that’s what it’s for.” 

The medbay light was a vivid white with a barely noticeable blue hue. She had to squint as she entered. 

“Is it always so bright?” she asked Robyn, who was already stepping into a side room behind a registration counter manned by a 2-1B med droid.

“During the day, yes. Around evening it darkens to allow the patients some sleep.” 

She followed him inside the tight space, which was further cramped by lockers and a washing basin. Robyn explained that this was their little changing room and that, in a calmer moment, she too would be measured for a medical officer’s uniform, like the one he held out for her. It had the same cut and style as the grey uniforms she’d seen the bridge officers wear, but it was white and bore the medical insignia on both shoulders. It looked clean and actually handsome ... she wondered if it’d suit her. 

Besides her locker next to his, there were two others. “So we’re a group of four?” she asked.

“Yes, we work in shifts. While I’m also a field medic, the other two are only stationed here. They’ll come around soon. Copper and CT-3754. Two very good men.” There was less reserve in his voice now; either he was becoming more comfortable around her or he was just more at ease in his medbay where he knew his way around.

“I look forward to meeting them then.” A smile danced over her lips as she said it. She really did. 

He let her have a look in her own locker, which she unlocked with her card. Inside she only found a large medical bag, but soon enough her uniform would hang beside it too. The prospect excited her. 

“Are you experienced in the field?” he asked.

She pursed her lips, closing the locker and giving him a hesitant look. “I’ve never been into battle if that’s what you mean. Until a few days ago the Jedi were negotiators, not battalion leaders.” She grimaced; even he could probably sense how obviously nervous she was in her new position. “I’ve healed some people during my training, but always in a safe surrounding, a lazette or even a medcenter. I’ve only been on the battlefield of Geonosis to help wounded after everything had calmed down … if that counts?”

Robyn shrugged. “Not really — at least not by clone standards. But, yes, better than nothing.” As he said it, her smile faded a little and he was quick to reassure her. “But I’ll take you under my wing for now. You’ll learn fast, I’ve got a good feeling about that.” This was why she respected them already: they knew their way around, they were trained for combat and war. _They_ had to teach the Jedi, not the other way around. 

“Come on, I show you the rest,” he said with a smile as they left the changing room. 

He showed her the MRT room behind the counter, which she’d caught a glimpse of earlier. The L-shaped space held six beds, a droid charging station in the far back, and two operation rooms. The beds were empty, for which she was grateful, but she wondered where Captain Cecil could be. Robyn then led her to another room which boasted even more beds, thanks to an alcove on the right side, allowing for eighteen in total. All the medical equipment was indeed impressive, but there still didn’t seem enough beds, considering how many men were aboard.

At the far end, a curtain separated the room from a space beyond. Pushing it aside, Robyn indicated to the entrance of a bluish glowing room filled with bacta tanks while Aryanna silently remarked on the presence of couches — a concession, she guessed, to anxious comrades she hadn’t expected to find.

One of them was occupied and she needn’t wonder any longer where Captain Cecil had gotten to. 

“Ah, hello, Commander,” he greeted her, setting aside the HoloPad he’d been reading. His leg was propped onto a small table and he looked a little less pained.

“Captain Cecil,” she acknowledged with a noble bow. “Glad to see you followed my order.”

He shrugged. “That’s us, sir. Always follow orders without question.” 

His silver eyes wandered over to Robyn. “Are you done with the medbay tour, Robyn?” he asked kindly. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Cecil returned his gaze to Aryanna. “Then would you mind sitting with me, Commander?” 

She smiled and approached him, sitting down at a respectful distance. “Thank you for the tour, Robyn. I think I’ll know my way around the medbay soon,” she said. He nodded in silent agreement of what he’d assured her of so many times already — that she’d get used to everything in no time — and left them alone.

Cecil adjusted his position on the couch, looking her up and down, perhaps to see what effect a few hours shipboard was having on this Jedi. 

“Again, not the way I wanted us to meet,” he sighed with a frustrated shake of his head, gesturing at his leg. “I had hoped it would heal a lot faster … but the droids, our good Robyn, Copper and CT-3754 are no magicians.” 

She frowned at that. “It’s not your fault you got wounded, Captain. Take your time to heal.”

“‘Taking my time’ isn’t exactly my strong suit, Commander,” he chuckled. “I’ve been kept in here for three days and I can feel the itch to get back into the field in my very fingertips.” He stretched his arms over his head and his eyes started to wander over her again. 

“How do you feel otherwise, Captain? You looked pale as death earlier,” she commented and his eyes snapped up to hers again. 

“Lighter … and ready for a fight.” 

Her brows furrowed and she crossed her arms. “I was being serious.” 

“So was I.” 

She chuckled at that. He was definitely a lot more comfortable around her than Robyn, and less by-the-book than Thorn, their different personalities already displaying themselves. “So, I will ask again: how are you _medically_?”

He shook his head. “It hurts like hell, to be honest, sir.” He finally admitted. She knew the pain of losing a limb, and the struggle and discomfort to get used to a prosthetic. Her right arm felt like it was twitching at the very thought, but she knew it was just her imagination. “The bacta does nothing — it doesn’t cool, it _burns_ , and each step I take makes me want to scream.” 

“Have you rested your leg since my Master sent you back?” she asked, at first receiving only a grunt for an answer. 

“Sort of … I hate sitting still.” 

“I get that, Captain, but it doesn’t help your body heal if you work against it.” Her voice was soft but she needed him to understand how important it was to allow his body rest, especially now. His eyes met hers and he gave her a reluctant nod. “The more you work against, the longer it will take to heal. As hard as it is — and I _know_ it’s hard — give your body the time it needs or it will just get worse.”

“You said you’re a medic … do you think you could take a look? ‘Cause the bacta really burns,” he finally asked. 

She nodded, handing him his crutches. “Sure, lay down and I’ll have a peek.”

Cecil hauled himself up onto the crutches and they left the room. Robyn had been bustling behind the counter when the door opened and he straightened up to look at them, his brows narrowing. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Aryanna replied. “The Captain asked me to have a look at his leg.” 

Robyn came around to them instantly, worry pinching his soft features. “Why? Is something wrong?” It was obvious that Robyn was very solicitous of his patients even if they outranked him — maybe especially then. 

Cecil looked tiredly up at him. “Yeah, the stump burns like hell… maybe something _is_ wrong,” he muttered, letting himself drop onto the bed. It creaked under his weight. Aryanna helped him lift the stiff prosthetic onto the bed and rolled his pants down and off, covering up his other leg with a blanket. 

“You don’t seem to be troubled undressing a man,” Cecil chuckled and Aryanna raised a brow at him, her cheeks warming a little.

“I’m a Jedi healer, I don’t concern myself with my patients’ gender,” she replied, her retort and her blush infecting Robyn too. Aryanna noticed and shot the shy medic a smile. He’d probably be red as a beet if _she’d_ be the one on the bed right now. 

She carefully peeled off Cecil’s bacta bandages that covered not just the seam where flesh met plasteel but the entirety of his prosthetic leg. 

_First mistake_ , she thought to herself. Because of the complete wrap, his skin would sweat more, and as much as he’d been moving around, he must have sweat a lot. The salt would grind against the skin under the bandage and cause a very painful reaction. Normally bacta would sooth that pain, but since it was stained with sweat, it would only exacerbate it. The closer she got to the skin and metal, it became obvious how right she was; aside from the expected heavy scarring on Cecil’s stump, the skin was red and slightly bubbly, a reaction to the enclosed bandage. 

“This needs to be cleaned, before it inflames even more,” she said quietly and Robyn nodded, quickly shuffling away to get cleaning alcohol and antiseptic washes. 

“What does that mean for me?” Cecil asked. 

She explained how his body had reacted under the bacta bandages, and she noticed his eyes flick to to Robyn. 

“I will talk to Copper later, he made the bandage,” he murmured as he watched Aryanna work. The Captain hissed when she started to clean his sensitive leg.

“This explains the burning sensation you were complaining about, Captain.” 

“Glad I wasn’t imagining it,” he groaned as she wiped over a particularly big blister.

“I’m sorry, but I promise it will get better once it’s all clean,” she soothed, continuing her work. Some of the blisters popped as she washed his leg and Cecil made his discomfort clear. She understood, she’d experienced the same. The problem in his case was that the prosthetic had been attached too soon, giving his wounded leg no time to heal enough to accept it. It was a common custom these days but often resulted in such complications. She eventually removed his prosthetic altogether, cleaning the rest of his skin. 

Robyn blinked at her in surprise when she said they should give him more time to heal before reattaching the prosthetic and Cecil looked confused.

“But — but you and the General need me,” he protested, earning a sharp glance from Aryanna. 

“Captain, if this gets infected you could get septic shock and, in the worst case, die from it.” His face went pale and he only lowered his eyes after staring at her for a few seconds. “Trust me, none of us want you stuck in the medbay … but it’s what your body needs. Take your time to get better.” 

He looked shocked, like her entreaties for his well-being were something outrageous. She’d repeated herself enough to hope he’d eventually believe her. “I ... yes, sir,” he said at last, falling back again. 

Robyn tapped her shoulder. “A word, Commander?” he asked and she accompanied him to the locker room.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked wide-eyed once they were alone. 

Robyn waved his hands in denial. “No, no, not at all, sir.”

“What is it then?” she urged, nervous and wanting to continuing treating Cecil’s leg. Her Healer’s instincts barked at her to just use the Force … but she felt that would smack of ‘showing off’ and she didn’t want to intimidate anyone — at least not yet. It also drained her strength and she was admittedly still very tired, even still a little lethargic from her nap. 

“It’s just… back on Kamino, a clone who didn’t heal fast enough was considered defective,” he explained quietly as if he was afraid to be heard. 

She blinked at him, not understanding what that implied. “Defective as in—”

“Broken, Commander,” he cut in. “Useless. Weak. Not fit for combat anymore. Everything we soldiers don’t want to be.”

She felt the color drain from her face in the few seconds it took for her to grasp his meaning. The thought was beyond disturbing. Terrifying. 

“So … a defective clone is considered unworthy of life?” she asked and he gave a crisp nod in return. Now she understood the surprise on the Captain’s face when she said he should take his time to heal. During their private conversation, he hadn’t reacted at all — probably because he hadn’t taken her seriously. 

“Is that why he was so eager to meet me and Master Macau?” she asked Robyn. 

His shoulders had dropped a little and it seemed he wouldn’t dare look at her. “Yes, he didn’t want to appear defective to you.”

Was that how the Kaminoans had raised them? To be obsequious? Submissive? For fear of being … _eliminated_ otherwise? 

Suddenly she was reminded of something else, something Foxtrot had said earlier: _whatever normal humans do_. Were the clones raised to think they weren’t human? That they were just clones, just copies, and thus replaceable?

She couldn’t wrap her head around it. None of that would happen under her watch and she knew her Master would agree. 

“None of you will be ruled ‘defective’ if I have anything to say about it,” she proclaimed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “That is inhumane and I won’t accept it.” 

With that she left the room and went to stand by Captain Cecil, beaming determinedly at him, Robyn following her with some hesitation, astonishment written all over his face.

Cecil looked at her, somewhat worried, but Aryanna gently patted his shoulder, softly repeating what she had said before. “Give your leg a few days to heal. We’ll clean it every morning and evening, and between applications every few hours, but _do not_ cover it up again. That means no long pants, no bandages, nothing. In my experience, air and good care make wounds like this heal fastest.” He nodded slowly, like he still mistrusted her advice or her optimism — or both. She turned to Robyn. “Could you note it for the others as well? I’m not connected to the system yet.” 

He obliged, pulling out his datapad to write everything down for Copper and CT-3754. He was still surprised by her reaction, probably wondering if she’d stay true to her word.

“And ... when will we re-attach the leg?” he asked anxiously. 

She had placed it next to the bed, beside Cecil’s crutches. She looked down at it and pursed her lips. “Give it five days minimum — maybe even a week,” she said, trying to smother a sigh when Robyn opened his mouth as if to protest again, but he quickly thought better of it. 

“Look, Cecil…” she said, lowering the glove on her right arm to reveal her own prosthetic. “Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. Give it five to seven days, then we’ll see.” She rolled the glove back up and grinned at him. 

He blinked in surprise, but then blurted out, “But you’ll come around and keep me company, right?”

A curious question. She blushed slightly. “Yes, if my schedule allows it,” she promised. “After all, I’ll be stationed here every day from now on.” 

Robyn sighed and stepped away. “Anything else, Commander?”

She shook her head. “No … just that he’ll have to walk with crutches and he shouldn’t try to put weight on his leg without assistance from one of the medics or myself.” 

Cecil lifted his hands. “I definitely won’t, I promise, Commander.” 

“Good, I’ve had patients who just wouldn’t listen,” she teased. 

Cecil grinned knowingly. “I have no idea who you’re talking about, sir.” 

She finished cleaning Cecil’s leg stump and gently covered it with bacta gel. The green shimmering gel would soak in quickly, providing a protective sheen around the wounds. 

“Are you fond of these pants?” she asked, holding up the red fatigues. 

“Uhm … no? We have plenty of them. Why do you—” 

She answered by ripping off the left leg, leaving both men to stare at her in confusion. She helped him back into it, Robyn gently lifting the Captain’s rear so they could fit him in without putting weight on his injured leg. 

“So the fabric doesn’t cover the wound. No fibers will get into it and it’s always ventilated. I know it’s not pretty to look at, but you and others will have to learn to ignore it. It’s part of you after all … or rather a lack of you … sorry—”

Cecil chuckled and leaned back into the pillow. “Oh damn, that was bad.” Aryanna gave an awkward laugh, shaking her head over her own stupidity. 

“Please, just follow my instructions and you’ll be back in command in no time,” she said softly, trying to change the subject. “No one under my care will be reported if they take longer to heal, Captain. I refuse to _abide_ by that method.” He met her eyes and nodded slowly, probably guessing what Robyn had told her. 

“Thank you, sir, that … means a lot,” he said, easing back into the bed and relaxing enough to close his eyes. 

“Of course, Captain.” She reached out and gently stroked his forehead. “That’s right, you should try to rest … sleep a bit,” she murmured and he nodded under her hand.

“I think I will. Thank you for checking up on me, Commander.”

And indeed, Cecil did fall asleep rather quickly as Aryanna gently caressed his head. His hair was surprisingly soft. She turned her head, eyes meeting Robyn’s. “Is it really that bad?” she asked. “On Kamino … are you really treated like interchangeable and expendable parts?” 

Robyn’s silence spoke volumes as his eyes dropped to the datapad in his hands. “We’re weapons, sir … soldiers. That’s our only purpose in life,” he told her quietly. “We’re meant to age twice as fast as normal humans so that we can fight within years. Our lifespans are short and the only thing we strive to do is fight and fight well.”

She held up a hand, regarding him again. “Wait, hold up. That means you’re … you’re just half the age you appear to be?” 

Robyn nodded. “The oldest of us are ten. They were the first to be cloned. Cecil is one of them.”

Aryanna’s eyes widened as she stared at him in utter shock and confusion, flicking her eyes from him down to the sleeping Cecil and then back again. She couldn’t understand. She had suspected the Kaminoans had started building this army ten years ago but that the clones were actually … older. Somehow. They did _look_ older than her after all.

“I — I didn't know this…” she said quietly, her voice suddenly hoarse. “Are you even allowed to tell me this?”

Robyn slowly shook his head. “We’re forbidden to talk specifics … but somehow I don’t think you’ll report me.” 

She took a step back and almost staggered as she did. “No, I won’t. But this isn’t right.” 

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid war doesn’t allow much room for morals,” said Robyn in a perverse apology. 

“You are basically children—”

“And the Jedi didn’t send children into war?” Robyn asked and she gawped at him. He was right. Those Younglings, now Padawans, they were all younger than she, just children. 

She nodded. “They did…”

Robyn gave her a sad smile. “Then maybe the Jedi lack morals too? They do what they can to gain the upper hand in this war ... whether these Padawans are children or not doesn’t matter. They have to be soldiers.” It was painful how right he was, how close to home the truth struck, but even scarier was how calm he was about it. She had noticed the clones’ measured, almost resigned, attitude towards this war earlier on the way to the _Valkyrie_.

“We know our purpose, Commander. We were raised to fulfill it and we will,” he reassured her, which again felt unfair. “We aren’t afraid.” 

She met those soft eyes and she smiled just as sadly back. It still didn’t feel right and she wondered if they weren’t really afraid, under all their confidence and competence. 

“Okay…” she said, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand. “I promise not to tell anyone and I won’t treat you like children … but as men, as my equals and my partners in this war.” 

At first he stiffened under her touch, but then he relaxed a little and gave her a broad, warm smile. “Thank you, Commander. We’ll do our part to the best of our abilities, too. I promise you.”

“I know you will. I trust you,” she said softly, returning his smile when he squeezed her hand back. 

Robyn was very sweet. He was honest, told her things he wasn’t allowed to tell her because he trusted her too. She was honored, but she wanted to make things better, wanted every clone who served under her and Ilya to know that they would be treated with respect — as _humans_ , not clones. 

Her comm chirped and she pulled back from Robyn with a sigh. “Yes?”

The deep voice of her Master answered. “ _Are you done with the medbay tour_?” 

“Yes, Master. Something urgent?” 

“ _As a matter of fact, yes. We have a call from Kamino. Probably a mission._ ” Her heart jumped — either from excitement or terror, she wasn’t sure — before her Master continued. “ _You better come to the bridge immediately._ ” 

“On my way, Master.”

The light on her comm disappeared as the communication ended and she found Robyn eyeing her. “Now things will get interesting,” he said. It sounded a bit like a promise, but she still didn’t know how she felt about a mission; about how her men were treated back on Kamino; about anything that was currently happening. She had a feeling she should tell Ilya, though she had promised to keep quiet about it. But her conscience urged her to tell them… Without knowing what awaited her, she made her way to the door to head to the bridge. 

“Will you find your way back?” Robyn asked. 

She nodded and swiped her access card through the door console. 

“And don’t fall asleep again,” he teased.

Aryanna just chuckled and shook her head. “Contact me if something happens down here.” 

With that she left, hurried steps guiding her back through the barracks and the hangar. The ship was enormous, but it wasn’t a maze of hallways; it was fairly easy to navigate if one had a decent sense of direction. Besides she’d walked this way three times today already. But unlike her calm self back on Geonosis, she was nervous now. Her heart was pounding, echoing in her ears. She had hoped they’d be granted more time — time to learn the ship inside and out, time to get to know their men, and time to mourn their lost Master. But apparently it was pressing. However, Aryanna had somewhat lost her sense of time aboard this huge vessel. She didn’t know how exactly much time had passed since their departure from Geonosis. It didn’t feel _long_ , but on the other hand, it felt … endless. So much had happened already. 

She made her way down the hallways and a familiar face headed her way. Thorn. His tattooed face made it easy for her to recognize him. She was still shocked by the fact that these handsome soldiers were actually _younger_ than she, and it would take a long while for that knowledge to sink in — and even longer to ignore it and accept that they were still men. 

“Lieutenant,” she greeted him.

“The General asked me to pick you up, Commander,” he said and she rolled her eyes with a grin. 

“They should know I don’t get lost so easily.” 

“They just wanted to make sure you’d find your way,” Thorn shrugged and Aryanna just nodded. 

“Can’t blame them, they’re probably as nervous now as I am.” 

Thorn’s icy blue eyes widened as he looked down at her. “Are you nervous, sir?”

She lowered her head. “A little bit,” she admitted. “I’m worried that I’ll fail and someone will die because I messed up...” 

Thorn made a fleeting grimace, but then smiled. “I’m certain you and the General will do well. We’re by your side to help you.” 

“You all say that … yet you barely know us.”

“We were trained that way, sir.” 

That was the second time today she’d heard that, and she cringed to think that these men had no other purpose than to serve the Jedi. 

“Thank you, Thorn,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. 

“How is the Captain?” he eventually asked her, and she stared ahead, trying to find the right words. 

“I ordered him to rest … his leg has become slightly infected and the prosthetic will only make it worse, so we had to take it off again. He’ll heal first and then we try it again. But the skin on his stump is all sore and blistered — it causes him a lot of pain.”

Thorn looked confused. “When will he come back to serve?”

“In a week, maybe two. I want to give him time.” And as she said it, she noticed that same terrified look Robyn had given her ghosting across Thorn’s face. But she wouldn’t answer his unasked question now. “He’ll come back sooner than you think. And don’t worry, Lieutenant. So far you’re doing a great job as his replacement,” she assured him with a wink. 

That didn’t seem to ease his worry. After a moment he asked, “You think it won’t cause any trouble?”

She shook her head. “It won’t,” she said decidedly. “Health is more important than any regulations.” Their eyes met and she gave him a smile. 

“Is the Captain happy about this?”

“No, of course not. If it were up to him, he’d come back into duty immediately. But he runs the risk of a life-threatening infection or never being comfortable with that leg, so he relented to my order for him to stay in the medbay until it’s better.” 

Thorn nodded slowly. “I’m actually glad you got him to rest … we were all worried about him,” he admitted her after walking a few more meters, apparently deciding to drop further probing questions. 

“I noticed that earlier. Some of our personal squad looked very anxious to see him. He shouldn’t have come at all. He should’ve remained in his cot for a while — he certainly will now.” 

“Good,” Thorn smiled. “But I can’t wait to give him his pauldron back.” 

She glanced up and noticed the pauldron over his left shoulder. “Not yours?” she asked him curiously. 

“No. A lieutenant — unless you’re an ARC trooper — doesn’t wear a pauldron or a kama,” he explained. “Captain Cecil lent me his while I took his place.”

She frowned, rubbing her forehead. “I’ll have to remember that, too. It’s hard to keep you guys apart in full armor…” 

Thorn let out a soft chuckle. “ _Yeah_ , even we’re having trouble with that.” 

They would have to come up with something so that they could keep each other apart. So far Aryanna could only recognize them if they removed their helmets or wore special uniforms or accessories like a pauldron. She could recognize Cecil, Thorn, Acrid, Nova and Foxtrot … but if she had to tell the latter apart, she’d struggle with that as well. 

“There’s got to be a way we could distinguish everyone … maybe painting your armor individually but in one unified color?” she suggested. 

Thorn’s face lit up, and she saw a spark of the ten-year-old in him. “That’s not a bad idea, Commander. Maybe we could settle on one or two colors everyone can use, and then our creativity can handle the rest.”

“I’ll talk to my Master about this once we know what this mission is about.” 

Thorn nodded and punched the lift button when they finally reached it. “I like the idea, sir, and I’m sure many troopers will agree with me.” 

He stepped aside to let her enter first, and a soft blush rose to her patched cheeks as she did so. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

The lift brought them up to the bridge, where Ilya waited for them at the comms table. Blue light illuminated the entire room, casting everything and everyone inside into a strange glow, while leaving deep shadows behind them. It was a creepy sight. Unlike earlier, the stations on the bridge were now manned, mostly by troopers wearing grey uniforms and caps on their heads. While passing them, she noticed they boasted different emblem signs on their shoulders and chests to mark their rank. Most just wore a simple grey plaque with one red circle, but she had no idea what that meant yet. 

“There you are,” Ilya greeted her in their smooth deep voice. 

“Sorry for keeping you waiting, Master.” Aryanna bowed apologetically, then noticed the figure the hologram displayed in that ghastly blue light. It was a long-necked being with large, dark eyes peering down at them from a head crowned by a ridge; their features and posture were long and slim. 

A Kaminoan. 

“ _General Macau, Commander Mendoza,_ ” greeted a male voice. “ _I hope you find your new soldiers satisfactory._ ” 

Ilya glanced down at Aryanna who nodded with a smile. “More than that, thank you,” the Master told him. 

“ _Excellent, we’re pleased to hear that our creations are met with your approval._ ” 

_Creations_. Not men, not soldiers, not even _clones_. Creations. Aryanna balled her hands to fists. Thorn seemed to notice — at least, the slight turn of his helmet hinted as much, as if he were hiding from the Kaminoan as well. 

“ _My name is Cem Wes,_ ” the Kaminoan continued. “ _While the Republic is still getting acquainted with their new army, it was Sifo-Dyas’s wish that we familiarize you with missions and military procedures._ ” 

Sifo-Dyas. A name she didn’t think she’d heard since she was in the crèche. She looked at Ilya and found them swallowing hard, their face troubled. 

“ _And sadly, we already have a mission for you: a transport ship that was supposed to bring valuable rations and equipment to a new outpost has been discovered and shot down by a Separatist ship,_ ” Cem Wes informed them. 

“Already?” Ilya asked, their tone questioning. “Shouldn’t it be easier now to bypass any blockades and scouting troops of the Separatists?” 

“ _General Macau,_ ” Cem Wes said coldly. “ _Like you, we are still acclimatizing to this war. We weren’t expecting it to begin so soon. We thought we would have a little more time._ ” 

“So did we…,” Aryanna grumbled, which earned her a sharp glance from Cem Wes. His dark eyes returned to Ilya as if Aryanna wasn’t worth his notice after all. 

“ _You will take a platoon to retrieve the stranded cargo,_ ” he declared. 

“And the stranded troopers? Do we know if any survived?” Ilya asked. 

“ _Unimportant, General. The cargo is much more valuable, so you should prioritize its retrieval._ ” 

A planet appeared next to Cem Wes in the hologram, red circle marking the crash sight. The data indicated it was a swamp planet, humid and warm. Nothing Aryanna or Ilya wanted after Geonosis, but they couldn’t change that. 

“ _You’ll receive the remaining intelligence you need upon departure,_ ” Cem Wes added.

Ilya looked down at Aryanna, as if to gauge her reaction, but she already knew of the cruelty of the Kaminoans. Ilya, however, looked deeply troubled about these orders. The lives of these men should be the first priority. 

“ _You should let your personal squad assist you in selecting qualified squads to aid you in this mission. They should be trained well enough to help you,_ ” he went on, continuing to insult the very _creations_ he was originally so proud of. His pretty appearance did nothing to soothe the bite of his callus words. “Assemble your platoon and let us know when you’re ready to begin the mission.” 

With that the hologram faded, leaving the room in relative darkness. 

“What an ass,” Aryanna growled, not realizing she’d said it out loud until Ilya gave her a gentle slap on the back. 

“Language, Aryanna,” they reminded her. 

The lights turned back on and Aryanna shot a look at Thorn. His expression was unreadable, hidden behind his helmet. 

“How large is a platoon, Lieutenant?” Ilya asked. 

The Lieutenant relaxed at the soothing and gentle voice from the tall Zabrak. “A platoon consists of four squads of nine troopers each. Means we’ll have thirty-six troopers to recover the supplies.” 

Ilya nodded. “I see,”they said calmly. 

“You should definitely take your personal squad,” Thorn continued helpfully. “Sergeant Acrid forgot to mention that he is in fact in command of that squad. I will contact him to prepare everyone — and everyone else needed to assemble the platoon.” 

“Good, I trust your decision making to find us highly qualified troopers,” Ilya said. 

Aryanna chuckled. “I’m sure they all are, Master.” 

“Indeed, they are,” Thorn agreed before he left the bridge. 

Ilya looked down at Aryanna. “Pleasant fella that Kaminoan… Cem Wes.” they said.

Aryanna cocked a brow. “Yes, _very_.” Her voice was thickly lined with sarcasm. “Apparently they’re all like him.” 

“I sort of doubt that,” Ilya replied. 

Aryanna glanced sharply at her Master. “You should spend more time with your troopers; then you’d know better.” She walked around the table to retrieve a datapad that contained more information about the crash and flicked through the report. “You don’t really intend to leave those men in that swamp, right?” 

Ilya followed her example and studied it quickly. “No, I don’t,” they said after a long pause that almost made her doubtful of their answer. “They will probably need medical attention. We should definitely take more medics than just Robyn.” 

“Yeah, their crew wasn’t big though: nine men, not including the pilots, which would make it eleven.”

“They sure love their uneven numbers,” Ilya chuckled softly, shaking their head. 

Eleven men, plus their thirty-six. A LAAT/i could carry around thirty. Even without the cargo from the crashed ship, they’d definitely need two, and perhaps two more on top of that for the wounded — perhaps even as cover. They should use each LAAT/i to its full potential, not wasting any space, filling each with as much as it could carry. 

“I will get ready then. We shouldn’t loaf around,” she said quietly after studying the data pad. 

Ilya nodded, but their face was downcast. She returned to their side and gently touched their muscular forearm, which made her own hand look tiny. “Master.” Her voice made Ilya turn their head and she saw so much pain in their eyes: sadness, worry, and fear. 

“She’d be proud, Ilya,” Aryanna encouraged them quietly, gently touching their face. “Look where we are. You’re _my_ Master now … what she always wanted. What we always wanted.” 

Ilya leaned into Aryanna’s hand and gently put their heavy hands on her shoulders. “But not the way she wanted it,” came their sad protest. 

Aryanna sighed. “No … but at least we’re not alone.” She framed Ilya’s scarred face with her second hand. They had known each other for so long, their shared past making them more like siblings. “We can do this together, Ilya. I’m always by your side.”

They gave a weary smile, then wrapped their strong arms around Aryanna. “Shouldn’t I be the one assuring you?”

Aryanna chuckled against their chest. “Not today.”

Master Teagan Cammi did not have the one thing Aryanna and Ilya had. Each other. True, the bond between Master Cammi and Ilya had been strong, but not as strong as the one the two Jedi standing on the bridge of that cruiser shared. Neither of them would ever let the other fall or walk alone.

Ilya was the first to pull back, stroking over Aryanna’s patchy cheek. “I’ve just noticed how much you’ve grown since we last saw each other.” 

A smile spread over her face. “Well, I was fourteen then. I’ve had my share of growth spurts in two years.” 

“I meant something else, Aryanna. You’ve matured … you’re wiser and stronger. You care for others more than you used to and I’m proud to now watch your progress day by day, not catching a glimpse every other month,” they said, and Aryanna’s smile widened.

“Thank you, Master,” she said, pressing her forehead into her Master’s affectionate kiss.

Ilya meant the world to her. Their face had been the first she had seen in her life, their warmth in the Force the first she had felt. They were her family — or all she had of one. She looked up at Ilya, relieved to see their face brightening a bit. 

“Get ready, Aryanna,” they said softly. 

“I will, Master.”

With that she left for her quarters. There wasn’t much they had here yet, no clothes or other possessions. But Aryanna wouldn’t let that stop her from refreshing and mentally preparing herself for this mission. After all, she felt her heart racing in her chest. But this would be just the first of many challenges she’d have to face in her time as Commander of the _275th_.


	3. Chapter 3

Their ship jumped to hyperspace the moment she left the bridge. Aryanna felt the soft jolt, a light push backwards as they sped through the stars. At first she wondered why they were bothering, but she supposed they had to get the _Valkyrie_ into position for the LAAT/is. The small carriers weren’t equipped with hyperdrives, as she’d heard in a passing conversation earlier, so they needed to get as close as possible. 

_So the LAAT/is are only meant to be short range transports._ She made a mental remark so she wouldn’t forget it as this war dragged on.

According to her datapad, their destination was about an hour away, so she took her time getting ready. In her case, this consisted of braiding her shoulder-length hair and binding it to a ponytail at the back of her head, leaving only her Padawan braid hang loose. She still wore the same clothes as she had on on Geonosis: a black top, a purple obi, black pants, and her lightsaber belt of brown bantha leather. Long black gloves hid her prosthetic right arm and she wore black knee-high boots. She wore no armor, no fancy accessories; in short, nothing spectacular or outstanding, just practical. She preferred her own clothes over Jedi robes—they were outdated and made her look smaller than she was. When they had time to drop by Coruscant, she would definitely need to buy more, because right now, the ones she wore were the only ones she had.

The young Pantoran wandered aimlessly through the hangar, watching troopers bustle by. She was amazed by their order, their correctness; they seemed to know very well where they were going and what to do. She went on alone until she saw the tall frame of her Master ahead. 

It was still strange to see them without their jewelry entangled in their horns. They generally stood out among the clones, who weren’t small themselves either at around 1.8 meters. The Zabrak was broad and well-muscled, about a head taller than the clones; horns crowned their head, which they carried with only the slightest pride becoming of a Jedi. 

Ilya wore a tunic that was similar enough to standard Jedi robes; its high neck covered the scars that extended down their neck, shoulders, and back. A thick undersuit hid the rest of the scars that had mangled their left arm. Their skin had once been melted by flames as they had protected their Master. Their intricate face pattern had been distorted, and the flames stole half of their horns, a Zabrak’s particular pride. They were scarred, but they wore those scars with dignity. 

Aryanna picked up her steps and joined their side. 

“Do you know where they’ll assemble?” she asked and Ilya jumped a little in surprise at her sudden appearance. They took a deep breath and looked down at her, a pale, blind eye searching for her from beneath a web of scars. Although they couldn’t see Aryanna on that side, they felt her and smiled all the same. 

“No, I think Thorn forgot to mention that,” they replied with a short shrug. 

“Hmm, I guess he’s as nervous as we are … but we could ask.” 

Ilya chuckled. “Speak for yourself, Arya. _I’m_ not nervous.” 

Aryanna quirked a brow. “A person who claims such things is usually trying to cover up the truth.” 

At that Ilya actually laughed a bit. She knew they had assumed a mask of calm competence for the troops. 

The two Jedi headed towards where the LAAT/is were lifted from one hangar level to the next. One ascended as they approached and Aryanna waved to the pilot sitting inside; he waved back with a smile. He was only wearing a half-helmet and a yellowish visor covered his eyes, but at least she could see his face. He climbed out of the cockpit and jumped out from the cargo bay to greet them.

“General Macau, Commander Mendoza,” he saluted. Aryanna bowed her head and Ilya’s shifting shadow told her they were doing the same. “Good to see you again.” 

“Again?” Ilya asked.

“My co-pilot and I brought you aboard earlier. Have you gotten comfortable yet?”

Aryanna blinked, then smiled at him. It’d be a lie to say she remembered his face. They all looked the same and his was particularly spotless—no scars, no ink, no unusually colored eyes. His were soft and brown, like many of the troopers’. 

“Sorry, I didn’t recognize you … but yes, sort of,” Ilya answered. 

Aryanna gave him a shrug. “Give us some time and you’ll wish to be rid of us again.” 

He chuckled. “I don’t think so, Commander. And I don’t blame you for not recognizing me, General. There was a lot going on earlier. My name’s Cruz, by the way.” 

A nice name, Aryanna thought. The clones were very creative with their names, and she suspected they’d be just as creative with painting their armor.

“Are you looking for Lieutenant Thorn, sirs?” he asked and Aryanna perked up.

“Yes, he said he’d assemble a platoon for our mission, but he didn’t mention where,” Ilya informed him with an apologetic nod. 

Cruz laughed heartily. “They should be at the barracks. Squads usually assemble there before coming into the hangar.” 

“I think I know the way, then,” she said with a respectful smile. 

“Will you be accompanying us on the mission, Cruz?” the General asked.  
He puffed out his chest a little and patted the hull of the LAAT/i. “Yep, me and the ‘Old Girl’ will carry you two down to receive the lost cargo. So we’ll wait here for you.” 

“And the crew,” Aryanna kindly corrected him. 

“To be sure,” Ilya added. “We won’t leave them behind.” 

Cruz looked between them, blinking as if that was news to him. “That is … good to hear, sirs. I think we’d have asked you about that once there … but thank you.” He smiled and stepped back towards his “Old Girl.” 

“Well, then I’ll look forward to it. Thank you, Cruz,” Aryanna said.

Cruz saluted again. “You’re welcome, sirs. See you in a bit.” 

Aryanna mirrored his salute and took a step backwards before turning around and heading for the barracks. She knew the way now. Ilya looked down at her again, smiling softly. 

“You’re already fond of them, hmm?” they asked. 

Aryanna dropped her head to hide her blush, feeling the heat rising in her face. “They seem to have big hearts. They are good men. They care for each other and are willing to do anything to help us feel safe … I find that admirable.” 

Ilya was silent, then nodded. “Please—just ... don’t get too attached to them, keep your distance or you’ll risk imbalance.” 

Aryanna’s face dropped as she looked up at them again. That admonition caught her off guard. 

Earlier, when they’d been on the bridge, Ilya had shown so much emotion—been on the verge of _tears_ because they were still so shaken by the loss of their Master. She couldn’t fault them; the two had spent years together. But now they urged _her_ not to get too attached. Perhaps Ilya wanted Aryanna to learn from their own mistake ... she knew Ilya inside and out and couldn’t think what else they could mean.

“I … yes, Master,” she said and looking forward with determination. There was no point arguing about this. Of course they were right. If she got too attached to the troops and they died in combat, as they inevitably would, it would shatter her. 

“I know it’s hard, Aryanna … I’m still battling the loss of my Master, as you’ve seen. But I try to maintain balance so I can be there for you and be a good leader,” they explained.

“I know, Master. I’ve seen and felt it. But … at least allow me to treat these soldiers like men. Like individuals. Surely that is still the Jedi way?”

Ilya’s uneven eyes blinked down at her, but eventually the corners of their mouth twisted into a small smile. 

“Of course. We both should,” they admitted. “Now, let’s focus on the mission.”

“Yes, Master,” Aryanna sighed.

The mission: a cargo transport from Kamino shot down. A crew of eleven clones and some droids—who were probably fried by now—and cargo of food and gear, all probably slowly sinking into the swampy water of some horrible planet. According to their reports, five of the eleven troopers were wounded, one severely—the pilot. The retrieval of that cargo, as well as the injured crew, was urgent. 

As they continued through the hangar, Aryanna observed the clones. She observed them to distract herself from the worry that some of the wounded troopers might die before they could rescue them. She noticed that the clones had a long stride, their gait elegant, yet strong and proud. They carried their heads high, whether they wore armor or not. They beamed with pride and competence. Just watching them made her feel safer and less anxious about their mission. 

_Safety_. That was something she hoped others would feel around them too—that they would understand the clone troops of the Grand Army of the Republic were their protectors, not a force to fear. 

But she had a sinking feeling that many would still think otherwise. 

They reached the barracks and Ilya typed in the universal unlock code for the door. It swished open with a sound that was already becoming familiar. There was a great deal of chattering ahead and something told Aryanna that they’d find their troopers there. 

As they passed the medbay, Robyn and two other medics emerged. “Ah, General, Commander,” he greeted them with a shy smile. He looked a little intimidated by Ilya, his eyes nervously flicking up to them before returning to hers. 

“Hello, Robyn,” Aryanna replied. “Is Captain Cecil well?”

“Still sleeping soundly,” he answered, “I guess he really needed a good rest after all the pain and stress he endured. I left him a memo, however, that we’ll be off for a while.” 

She grimaced. “So much for me getting to visit him, then,” she mumbled, not wanting Ilya to hear after their little lecture.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll survive a day or two with just Copper and CT-3754 in the medbay—whom, by the way, I’ve informed about the proper treatment of his wounds, as you suggested,” Robyn said with a respectful bow of his head. 

“Good, thank you,” she replied. 

Ilya cleared their throat. Aryanna looked up to see that her Master was some ways ahead. “Talk to you on the way, Robyn,” she said, smiling at him and the other two medics before quickening her pace. 

“Will the Captain join us soon?” Ilya asked when she’d caught up again. She hadn’t told them about that yet.

“No, Master. He needs more time to heal … he’s taken things too quickly.”

Ilya seemed to accept this, giving her a nod. “I trust your medical judgement in that regard. I will meet up with him after this mission to get to know him a little myself.” 

“You should,” Aryanna said, perhaps a little too quickly. Ilya’s brow rose and she blushed a bit, rowing back her first thought about Cecil being great company ... and sort of charming as well. “Uh, I think he’d appreciate the company. The medbay is pretty boring after all.”

Ilya chuckled softly and shook their horned head. “Then we shouldn’t let this mission wait, so we can get back soon.” 

They found Thorn assembling four squads of troopers—their platoon for this mission. Beside him stood Acrid, whom Aryanna only recognized because he carried his helmet under his arm. Three other troopers had lined up beside Acrid, probably all sergeants like him. As far as Aryanna understood, every squad consisted of nine troopers, led by a sergeant; platoons consisted of four squads led by a lieutenant. In their case, led by none other than Thorn. 

As the two Jedi came nearer, the lieutenant ordered the troopers to attention. The troopers turned towards them, waiting for their words, their orders, and Aryanna felt herself freeze.

Suddenly her ears were filled with a static sound, every voice around her deafened by it. Ilya’s usually loud and clear voice was dulled, as if they were speaking through a wall. She couldn’t hear a word. Blood pumped furiously through her veins as she was overwhelmed with nervousness. She looked down her arm to see her hand shaking and cold sweat pooled in the crook of her neck under her shirt. Her breath hitched. No matter what she did, she couldn’t calm herself.

There was another jolt and Aryanna almost fell flat on her face. The _Valkyrie_ must have dropped back to real space. 

She didn’t know if she said anything, but suddenly she felt herself moving. Back to the hangar. Cruz greeted them with a wide smile and she climbed up into the “Old Girl,” his prized LAAT/i. She felt like she was being pulled along strings, orchestrated by nothing but the Force. Before she knew it, she felt that sickening shaking in her stomach as they lifted from the floor of the hangar and the shutters closed around them. Darkness descended upon her like a blanket. Her heart was racing, faster and louder than ever before.

And then she blacked out.  
She didn’t faint—she just couldn’t remember anything that happened after that point. It was the strangest feeling, as if she weren’t in control of her own body and mind ... as if she were watching from far away and couldn’t make out what happened. 

Aryanna came back to herself when she felt the “Old Girl” shake, the metal beneath her boots vibrating like a struck drum. She couldn’t see properly and she could hear herself exhaling and inhaling. There was a mask on her face—an oxygen mask. She must’ve put it on at some point in the hangar. She vaguely recalled that the planet they were approaching had little oxygen, but that didn’t stop her shaking fingers from trying to pry it off. 

A gloved hand grabbed her wrist. “I wouldn’t do that, Commander,” said Foxtrot, his camouflaged armor giving him away. “Just breathe calmly.” 

She tried, but a sharp drop in their descent almost made her vomit.

“ _Hold on tight,_ ” she heard Cruz demand over the comm as the gunship took a violent swerve to the left. 

Aryanna felt unbelievably sick and her knuckles turned white as she held onto the high railing above her. “What’s going on?” she asked, voice quaking. 

She was met by a visor directly in front of her face and the rough voice coming through the annunciator told her it was Joker. “Separatist cruiser was orbiting the planet!” he shouted over the sound of engines whirring. “Damn clankers are probably after the crashed crew.” 

She felt herself go pale in the darkness and nodded absently. Their presence would just make things harder. “They already shot them down, why are they still here?” she asked. 

Another trooper turned his head to her. Acrid. “Our boys were bringing cargo to an outpost, if you remember. Those outposts are used to store weapon prototypes and they are kept a secret for as long as possible. Seps must be after the location of the outpost to destroy it before it can be fully established.”

That made a shocking amount of sense and Aryanna suddenly felt the urge to help the downed crew even more quickly. “Then we must get to them!” she demanded. 

Acrid shook his head. “Clankers are on the surface, Commander. We have to avoid being spotted by them until the last moment or this whole operation is over before it begins. The _Valkyrie_ is doing all it can to keep that cruiser’s attention off us, but in the atmosphere we have to stay covered.” 

The _Valkyrie_ was fighting? How much had she missed? 

“So we’re taking a detour?” she asked. 

“Yes, sir. About ten klicks away to make sure.” 

“Ten kilometers, Aryanna,” Ilya called over from beside her. They were wearing a mask too. 

Ten kilometers away from the crash sight. That meant they’d have to wade through the swamp to reach the troopers, with time pressing on their necks with a merciless whip. 

“Two other gunships swerved off to distract the Separatists, while we land and get close,” her Master continued. 

Then they’d probably take care of the Separatists in direct combat before they helped the stranded troops. And once the area was secure and clear, Cruz and the other pilot would pick them all up. It made more sense now. 

“Okay, I get it … sorry, I must’ve blacked out for a moment,” she apologized.

Joker sneered. “A moment? You’re funny, Commander. Robyn tried to talk to you the entire time and you didn’t respond. Had this blank look on your face.” 

Aryanna’s eyes widened and she lowered her head in shame as her cheeks heated. “I’m sorry…” she said, looking over to Robyn who was standing slightly behind Joker. 

“No worries, Commander. I’m just glad you’re back with us. I was kind of worried you’d faint completely, you were incredibly pale…” he said. 

She shook her head. “I didn’t do it willingly, so please don’t think badly of me.” 

“‘m not, sir.” 

The “Old Girl” finally slowed down. “ _Sorry for the wild ride, men—and Jedi,_ ” Cruz said over the comm. “ _But we almost got spotted._ ”

There was muted cheering among the troops. Not only was their personal squad in here, but another as well—around twenty men, besides the tall Zabrak and Aryanna, making it very cramped.

“ _I’m just trying to find a dry spot to land and then it’s up to you,_ ” Cruz continued. 

But there was nowhere to land—nowhere that wasn’t too close to the Separatists roaming the area or too far away to be practical. In the end they opted to jump out of the gunship and into the swamp below. Cruz was hesitant at first, because they’d have to circle the area and risk being spotted, but Thorn mentioned the possibility that they could distract the ground forces. Cruz opened the shutters and trooper after trooper jumped out. 

Aryanna was one of the last, Foxtrot offering to jump with her. She looked down; it was a good five-meter drop into the muddy water below. The clones had sunk in, hip deep, and Aryanna was afraid she would sink even deeper. She took a deep breath and grabbed Foxtrot’s hand before he jumped and pulled her along with him.

There was a short, weightless moment that made her stomach clench and her eyes go dark, before she heard the splash of water around her. She must have landed in a depression in the soil, because she couldn’t find solid ground and she felt the water close above her head. It was dark and water poured into her mask. Panic mounted into her throat before two strong hands pulled her up. 

Aryanna gasped for air the moment her head broke water, glancing wildly around until she recognized Foxtrot and another trooper. 

“Woah there, Commander. Don’t drown on us,” Foxtrot said gently, rubbing her arm. 

She was dripping wet and she felt like the day had already gone to hell in a handbasket. A wave nudged her forward and she looked over her shoulder to see that Ilya had jumped with a big splash. She gave them a sharp glance, but they just chuckled. Aryanna briefly lifted her mask to let the water run out, or she’d have no other choice but to drink the muddy water. Which she wasn’t prepared to do. 

Her padawan braid had wrapped around her damp neck and she pried it off. “So … what now?” she asked as she followed the men onto a higher patch of ground, although her knees were still in the water. All she could think about were her soggy clothes and how she wouldn’t allow herself to touch any wounded trooper in this unsanitary state. 

“We find a way towards the crash sight,” Ilya replied behind her before they took the lead beside Thorn and Acrid. 

Above them came the whirring of the gunships flying off, accompanied by the sound of blaster fire. Aryanna just hoped their pilots would be okay.

“I’ll — _ooof!_ … I’ll be right behind you, Master.” 

But that was harder than she’d anticipated. The swamp swallowed her in places she couldn’t anticipate, almost reducing her to swimming, so she often fell far behind Ilya. This went on for almost two hours. They made very little progress in terms of distance, as the swamp was so deep and daylight was fading. It frustrated Aryanna immensely, until she had an idea upon noticing the trees around them. 

She nudged the trooper walking beside her, who identified himself as Bat. “Can you help me get onto that tree?” she asked him. He just stared at her for a second, then nodded. 

They waded over to a thick root and Bat gave her a small boost. It was sturdy enough to carry her and she climbed higher to balance across the branches. “Thanks, Bat.” She grinned as she slowly snuck her way forward until she was above Ilya. 

Her Master looked up and smiled at her. “Clever as I remember you,” Ilya chuckled and Aryanna beamed proudly. 

“Always here to impress!” 

The troopers must have thought this a clever idea, because after a few minutes of watching their Commander dancing along the tree branches, they climbed onto the roots and jumped from one to another themselves. The tight gaps between the trees made it relatively easy to maneuver around and they used vines when the trees were too far apart to jump. Once up, none of them seemed to relish the idea of returning to the water. Their body gloves were probably soaked by now, even if they were theoretically waterproof. Ilya followed their example as well and jumped from root to root and they made much swifter progress. 

Eventually they came across a truly merciless obstacle: a Separatist barricade with repulsorlift tanks burning down the trees and blocking their way forward. Aryanna spotted them first and whistled down at Ilya. 

“Tanks ahead,” she hissed when they looked up at her. Ilya balled their hand to a fist, a signal they had picked up from Acrid. Their platoon halted and everyone looked to Ilya. Night had fallen and they had to rely on their helmet lights—hardly inconspicuous and if they went further they would surely be spotted. The men had explained the night vision in their helmets earlier, but that was something the Jedi lacked. 

“What are your orders, General?” Acrid asked. 

Aryanna climbed down from the tree canopy and hunched onto the roots before her Master, watching them turn over the problem in their mind.

“How close are we to the crash sight?” Ilya queried and Nova checked his holomap behind them. 

“About two more klicks, sir—uh, kilometers, I mean.” 

They had managed only eight. It was a kick to the guts. 

Ilya looked down at Aryanna, forehead puckered in thought. 

“We could attack the barricade?” Aryanna suggested. 

“And risk being reported,” Ilya replied. “Then we’d have the entire ground force of the Separatists on our tail, our noses pointing them directly to the troopers.” Ilya’s comm blinked and they lifted their arm. 

“ _Sir, you’ve stopped?_ ” came Cruz’s voice.

“Yes, we’re facing a barricade,” Ilya told the pilot. 

“ _Well, we’re running low on fuel, sir. We can’t give you air support much longer if we wait…_ ” 

Ilya frowned and glanced between Thorn and Acrid.   
“Send them back, Master,” said Aryanna. She suddenly had an idea. “If they leave, the ground forces might think we’ve given up.” 

Ilya met her eyes, darkened in the depth of night. “Then they’ll send the tanks directly to the crash sight,” they countered.

Aryanna nodded. “I know. But it would give us a chance to pass and maybe destroy the barricade.”

“That could work,” Thorn added. “We could split up, have one party pass and the other affix detonators to the tanks to blow them up. If some are already on the way towards the crash sight, they’ll turn around at that and run straight into more detonators from the other group.” 

“I agree … it’d be risky, but worth a try,” said Acrid. 

Ilya looked at them and then nodded. “Did you hear that Cruz?” they asked. 

“ _Loud and clear, sir. We’ll fly back then and come back once you’re ready._ ” 

“Yes, stay safe.”

The whirring of their LAAT/is, their constant companions throughout the darkness, suddenly faded and left them with nothing but the sounds of the jungle surrounding them. 

“I hope your idea works,” said Ilya, motioning for their snipers climb into the trees.

As if on cue, about ten minutes after the LAAT/is had departed, five Separatist tanks peeled away from the line and headed east towards the crash sight. One of their snipers confirmed a large column of smoke rising to the sky. Their platoon divided in half, one using the large gaps between the tanks to rush past through the water. Aryanna went with them, soaking her dry clothes again. The other half stayed behind and threw detonators against the tanks. 

Once Aryanna and Ilya’s group was far enough along, right behind the unsuspecting tanks, Ilya gave the word and a coordinated explosion was set off, flames spewing into the sky as the barricade was blown to bits. The woods around them began to burn, the crackling sound chasing away any critters that had been roosting in the trees. 

The tanks to their front stopped and turned around, but they quickly climbed into the trees to avoid being spotted. From above they rained down more detonators before continuing on their way. They waited for the rest of their platoon to give their signal as they waded through the water to get back to them, hiding from the view of the other tanks the other tanks’ sight. 

But the enemy had grown suspicious and were suddenly firing at them, into the trees. The droids must be looking for them now from within the tanks. 

There were some screams and Aryanna’s eyes widened. “Master!” she gasped, but Ilya was frozen.   
Their men fired back, but they were encircled by flames. Suddenly Ilya charged forward, over the roots of trees. Aryanna rolled her eyes and glanced at Thorn. “Stay here,” she ordered him, before dashing after her Master, shouting at them to no avail. 

They ignited their lightsaber, the green light illuminating the jungle. Aryanna grabbed her own and ignited it, her eyes momentarily blinded by the purple light, before she jumped onto a tank and slid the blade through the durasteel top. She formed a fist, lifting the cut metal with the Force and then crushing the droids within. Their strange tinny voices actually seemed surprised.

As the tank swung out of control and into the tank Ilya had disarmed, Aryanna propelled herself into a tree. Ilya did the same, but much more quickly—but this was no friendly Padawan competition, this was live or die. Aryanna hopped down onto the next approaching tank, then into the water itself, slicing her saber through the trunk of the tree she’d just abandoned, lifting it with the Force and dropping it into the water near the fire that threatened her troops. The splash was large enough to drown the flames. 

But she was shocked to glimpse some of the men floating in the water, unmoving.

Ilya suddenly landed beside her. “Come now, quick!”

The troops climbed over the tree, but Aryanna stood in the water, motionless as they passed. 

Four … she counted four who had been killed by the tanks. 

Ilya patted her shoulder. “Come.” This time it sounded more like an order and Aryanna followed, dashing through the muck as best as she could. 

“Everyone alright?” she asked the men when she caught up, and there were general murmurs of confirmation.

“Thanks, Commander,” said Robyn, his armor dark and scorched. Had he been trapped with the others? 

“You’re welcome … are _you_ alright?” she insisted.

He nodded as he ran. “Just got a bit warm.”

A whirring sound came overhead, but it wasn’t familiar or friendly. The group scurried to hide under the trees. 

“They must know we’re here now…” Ilya sighed. “We best stay hidden, let them think it was their circuits malfunctioning in the water as long as possible.” 

“You think they’re that dumb, Master?” Aryanna asked.

Ilya shook their head. “Let’s hope. But we shouldn’t waste anymore time. We’re needed.”

Aryanna lingered for a moment, glancing back to where the four troopers had died. They were just … leaving them. Leaving them to rot and be forgotten. It hurt. She said a silent prayer for them, to guide them into the Great Force. 

“Aryanna!” Ilya called, snapping her out of it, and she had to catch up again. 

The air became more dense as they went on, a hot breeze rolling their way as the patrol must have set more of the jungle aflame. Luckily they were still breathing in their own oxygen. The clones employed their night vision, each of the Jedi holding onto various troopers in turn. Aryanna had grabbed onto Bat’s shoulder as he had been nearest. They had opted to wade through the water, hoping to create as little noise as possible and also remain relatively safe from the fires crackling around them. 

Sometimes they came across drifting wood and other times droids—or parts of them—twitching and making weird sounds.

“Their circuits are frying. I guess they didn’t bring the advanced droids,” Acrid sneered under his helmet. 

That made sense. These models didn’t cope well with water; that was why the battle on Naboo ten years ago had been a relatively easy fight—at least in the watery plains, the Elders and Gungans who had fought in the city and grasslands would probably disagree. She’d been so small back then, just six years old, but she’d heard and read about it in the aftermath. 

“Let’s hope there won’t be too many left, so we can get our brothers out,” Joker growled, aiming his blaster at a drifting droid and preparing to pull the trigger, but Bat stopped him. It might bring them unwanted attention.

“Don’t waste ammo. Who knows whether they have more tanks,” Bat warned.

Joker nodded slowly. “Right.” 

The remaining two kilometers felt endless, their drenched clothes slowing them down. But at last they came across a clearing lined with smoldering trees. The clearing wasn’t natural; shards of durasteel and chunks of wood and droid shrapnel stuck in the muck or floating at its edges testified to its violent creation. Smoke rose into the sky hundred of meters above them, cut by Separatist air patrols, the same that had crossed above them after the tank barricade had been destroyed. 

Meanwhile the standard droid ground forces—the unintelligent weedy ones that arrived in mass wherever the Separatists went—were struggling to keep their circuits from frying as they fired into the clearing. Their red plasma bolts were met by blue ones, a bizarre festival of colors that said some troopers were _definitely_ still alive in the wreckage and fighting for their lives. 

The platoon gathered behind a large chunk of durasteel that must have blown off the crashed carrier ship. Aryanna stood hip deep in water, her body starting to shiver—unusual for a half Pantoran, but the wind had picked up and her clothes were completely soaked. One of their snipers, whose name she still hadn’t caught, leant out from behind their cover and used the scope of his rifle to make out what was happening in the distance. 

“I can see four troopers…” he began. 

_Four_ … four out of eleven. A bitter pill to swallow. Aryanna looked down, her heart clenching a bit. Had they taken too long? Seven troopers from the crashed crew and four of their own, all lost during their first mission.

“You sure?” Acrid pressed. 

“Yes, sir,” their sniper confirmed. The look he gave Acrid said it all. 

“Well … damn,” sighed Acrid. 

“Then we shouldn’t stand around here, we should hurry,” Ilya pressed behind bared teeth and canines. 

Thorn looked up at the tall Jedi and nodded. “What’s your plan, sir?”

The lieutenant’s question must have caught Ilya off guard. They waded over to the edge of the cover and peered out. There were no tanks this time. But they shouldn’t jinx it.

“Best we split up again. Take the remaining droids by surprise and then take care of the survivors,” Ilya suggested. 

“I’d have suggested the same, sir,” said Thorn and Ilya smiled in relief. 

“You and half of the men come with me, Acrid and the rest will go with Aryanna.” 

Aryanna leaned forward behind her troopers. “Who takes which side?” 

“You go left, I take the right.” 

Aryanna nodded, taking her lightsaber from her belt again. She weighed it in her hand, balancing the hilt as she felt for the right angle. It was still new; she had only finished building it a few weeks prior to her elevation to Padawan, before which she hadn’t needed one. Using it against the tanks had been its grand debut in action. 

Memories of her trial within the icy caves flashed before her: the challenge she’d faced to retrieve her kyber crystal and build her lightsaber. The trial, mind tricks, one’s greatest fears… and Aryanna’s … well, it hadn’t been easy. The cold hadn’t affected her much, but her challenge had. She didn’t wish to think of it and was glad when someone shook her shoulder. A trooper was looking at her. 

“Commander, are you ready?” he asked. It was Acrid. She nodded and quickly dashed from behind the durasteel slab with half the troopers behind her. 

They went left, using debris as cover until they reached the treeline. From there they would approach the crash site and attack the unsuspecting droids. They were silent, creating only the smallest of waves as they moved. The droids were closing in on the trapped clones, shooting mercilessly as men tried to protect each other and the cargo, fulfilling their duty to the last, but risking their lives because they had no cover at all. 

Aryanna almost lost her calm when one of the men was shot in the shoulder and splashed into the water with a scream of pain. Another who tried to help him was shot in the back. The first trooper scrambled back up and was shakily trying to hit the droids, taking out a few of them, before he was shot again. 

She wanted to help. _She had to help._

The snipers climbed up into the trees to get a better vantage point and immediately began taking out droids who got too close to the ship.

_Just a few more meters._

But when the droids ascended the ramp and tried to take out the two remaining troopers, she couldn’t hold back. She couldn’t wait for a sign. Her lightsaber burst to life with a deep hum. 

The purple light didn’t blind her this time. She could see her path well enough through her determination. 

A droid nearest to her turned at the sound and called the alarm. Blasters were suddenly fired their way, but Aryanna charged ahead, cutting through their weapons, then their bodies, and sparks flew as they fell into pieces in the water. 

“ _Jedi!!_ ” she heard a trooper shout from within the wreckage, his voice both relieved and excited.

The other half of the platoon came surging in from the other side of the clearing, Ilya’s double-bladed green lightsaber humming and slashing through the droids like a knife through butter. The troopers pushed in from behind, trapping the droids between them and the wreckage, where the survivors were still firing. 

Suddenly the familiar whirring of their LAAT/is filled the sky above them again as they descended down and shot down the patrol ships. Aryanna whooped happily when she saw Cruz leading the four gunships again. They must have refuelled and returned right away. Their lights replaced the blinding spotlights from the patrols and made it easier to maneuver around.

Aryanna could still barely see as her mask was splashed with water and filling again. But she let instinct guide her. She could feel who was droid and who was clone. The droids’ cool durasteel bodies betrayed them. Luckily the water wasn’t as deep here anymore, as the crashed ship had pushed up the soil.

Aryanna scampered up the ramp quickly, deflecting blaster bolts the droids continued to fire at the survivors. But she missed one and the searing burn of plasma shot through her left shoulder. 

It was beyond hot and she swore she heard her skin sizzling. She couldn’t help a small scream and she grabbed her shoulder with her other hand, ducking down when the next bolt came her way. Acrid and a sniper blasted the droids aiming at her and she gave them a grateful nod, eyes filling with tears. Her body was shaking with adrenaline and her shoulder felt like it was on fire. There was no time for healing, so she simply pressed onto the wound and used her powers to dull the pain. After a moment, she grasped her lightsaber again with both hands and continued to use the purple beam to deflect the blots coming their way, although the fire was not as dense anymore. 

“Commander!” one of the troopers behind her croaked. She turned around and he tossed a small ball towards her. “Push the button on the top, then throw it.” 

Aryanna looked down at him in confusion. Was this a bomb? If it was, it would kill their troopers as well. “What is it?”

“New tech … a droid popper.” 

Droid _popper_ … so it only took out droids? She hoped it would do _only_ that—and work. 

Aryanna pushed the red button on the top of the ball, then threw it into the middle of droids. 

Light spluttered from the ball and the droids spasmed and jolted where they stood. Smoke rose from their circuits and after a few seconds, when the light faded, they collapsed motionless into the water. Aryanna stared in disbelief, meeting the eyes of her Master who kicked one of the droids to see if it was still responsive. It wasn’t. It was fried. Why hadn’t they been equipped with this in the first place? 

“What was that?” Ilya asked as they came closer, passing a groaning, injured trooper and gently lifting him up. They wrapped his arm around their shoulder and carried him up the dry ramp.

Aryanna shrugged from where she was checking the helpful trooper’s vitals and pointed to a nearby open crate; it was marked “electro-proton bomb.” 

“He said it was droid popper. Does it really only work on droids?” she asked, making way for Robyn and his two medics. 

“Yes, sir…” the trooper wheezed. His oxygen must be low. Aryanna removed his helmet, putting a mask to his face she’d fished out of her medical bag. By some miracle, it was still dry. He took in a deep breath and looked at her gratefully. 

“It … it is a prototype … but it’s supposed to be rolled out to the rest of the army soon,” he informed her, thankfully sounding less out of breath. 

“It seemed to work well,” Aryanna replied with a soft smile. 

“It could’ve also killed us all…” added Robyn as he checked on the trooper who had been shot in the shoulder and was struggling to breathe. Robyn was right though—Aryanna hadn’t known what it did, she had simply trusted the trooper. 

“Are there any more of you alive?” she asked. 

He shook his head. “One of the pilots died on impact … the rest of us were killed by the droids. We—we are the only ones left.” 

“I’m sorry,” Aryanna sighed, gently rubbing his shoulder. 

Ilya was sitting beside the struggling trooper, his breath wheezing through the respiratory of his helmet. He needed immediate medical attention. 

“Aryanna, your shoulder—” Ilya gasped.

Aryanna looked at the gaping wound. “It’s nothing,” she said, shrugging off their concern, but Robyn had caught the comment and he motioned for one of his medics to take a look. 

“It has gone right through … this is _not_ nothing,” the medic told her. 

She sighed. “I can just heal it.” 

“Yeah, _sure,_ ” he said sarcastically as he pulled out bacta patches and quickly covered her shoulder on both sides. 

Then came the sound of repulsorlifts, low and threatening, not the whirring of the LAAT/is. Ilya rushed to the ramp and looked out.

“Reinforcements...” they said under their breath and glanced back at the wounded and their own troopers. “Get them out of here,” they ordered Robyn. 

Ilya came to kneel before Aryanna, grasping her good shoulder. “You and I stay behind and hold them back.” 

Aryanna frowned up at them. “And how are we supposed to hold them back alone?”

Their eyes wandered down to that open cargo crate filled with little balls of droid death. 

“Good idea,” nodded Aryanna. “We’ll do as Ilya says. Contact Cruz to come ferry the wounded away from the crash immediately.” 

“Yes, keep out of sight,” Ilya said, “but don’t go too far.”

The officers hesitated. “We’ll stay,” said Thorn. 

“No you won’t. You’ll lead them,” Ilya replied. Thorn was about to protest, but the General continued, speaking sternly, but with kindness. “The wounded are our first priority, no matter what Cem Wes says.” 

Thorn and Acrid exchanged a long look at each other. “Yes, sir,” they finally said in unison, moving off to help the medics lift the injured and exhausted troopers onto repulsor carriers that must have been pulled out from the wall of the half-flooded ship. They were originally meant to carry cargo, but now they served a much more important purpose. 

Aryanna joined her Master on the ramp, watching as two carriers and six more tanks moved closer. Not yet close enough to drop the droids, but in range—and they were firing. The LAAT/is assaulted them as best they good, buying them a little more time to evacuate. 

“Good luck,” Robyn said to Aryanna and Ilya as he passed with a carrier-cum-stretcher. 

“I don’t believe in luck,” Ilya told the medic, but Aryanna gave him a smile.

They quickly hurried off and two gunships dipped low behind the wreckage to pick them up and carry them back into the skies and out of range. The _Valkyrie_ wasn’t an option yet, as it was probably still battling whatever Separatist ship had dispatched these new reinforcements; Cruz and his fellow pilots were excellent fliers, but they couldn’t risk it. 

Aryanna looked up at Ilya and gestured to the crate. “How do you think we’ll activate them all?” 

Ilya opened it fully and sighed. “Activate the top layer of bombs, leave the rest to me,” they said. 

She didn’t know what Ilya was planning, but suddenly they were walking down the ramp, straight towards the Separatist line. 

“Master?!” Aryanna yelped after them, but they paid her no heed. She stared after them in disbelief, but then moved to do as they said, pondering Ilya’s plan. 

The bomb she’d thrown before had only reacted on impact after she’d activated it; once it touched the ground it would go off. Maybe if they activated enough and then threw the entire crate at the droids, it would create a chain reaction leading every single one to detonate. 

It was primitive, but worth a shot. Otherwise Ilya and Aryanna would soon be joining their Master Cammi in the Great Force—something she didn’t really want to do yet, so shortly after becoming a Padawan. 

Aryanna activated the last two bombs and then took cover behind the crate, peeking out to watch her Master. As they stalked towards the enemy, they bent the barrels of the tanks with the Force, causing them to explode. Clever, but more than fifty B1 battle droids and twenty B2 super battle droids—the ominous grey ones—had just been deployed. 

When they circled her Master, Aryanna’s hand tightened around her lightsaber. Ilya would give her a sign, she was sure of it. 

The droids began interrogating Ilya. She couldn’t make out what was being said, but she could feel Ilya’s surprising calmness: their heartbeat was slow, the Force pulsing steadily around them. Aryanna, meanwhile, felt like she was a live wire. 

Suddenly Ilya lifted their hand and one of the small bombs flew out from the crate in front of Aryanna’s nose and into their Master’s palm. They seized and threw it onto the ground, releasing the lightning bright electric shocks that had brought down the first group of droids without trouble. 

“ _NOW!_ ” they bellowed as the droids left standing started to fire. 

Aryanna jumped to her feet, willing the Force to lift the crate for her. It floated ahead, as though it weighed nothing at all and wasn’t packed with dense metal. She drew back her arms, then pushed them forward, flinging the crate out of the wrecked ship and into the clearing, right beside Ilya. Ilya quickly jumped away, taking cover behind a large piece of debris. 

And their plan worked. 

The detonating bombs caused a chain reaction, sparking the deactivated ones to life. The flash was even brighter than before and the blast radius much larger, almost reaching the ship itself. Aryanna could see from her vantage point that even the two Separatist transports were affected and slumped to the side as their repulsorlifts fried. The entire spectacle took around thirty seconds before it finally ceased, the chaos dwindling into just a few small sparks popping off the damaged and collapsed droids. 

Aryanna didn’t wait for Ilya to get up before she bolted down the ramp. She rushed to their side and checked their face and arms for any sign of injury—burns, wounds, anything. This amount of electricity should’ve burned them alive, but Aryanna could make out no new scars amongst the old. She released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and hugged her Master.

A comm chirped and Ilya gently pushed her away. 

“ _General!_ ” Thorn asked breathlessly. “ _What just happened?! Are you still alive?_ ” 

“Alive and well, Thorn,” Aryanna called into her Master’s comm. 

“ _How in the—nevermind. We picked up a large energy reading. What happened?_ ” 

Aryanna and Ilya looked at each other and Aryanna grinned. “We used those electro-proton bombs to get rid of these droids. Just like before … except we used the entire crate.” 

“ _Entire crate? Are you—?_ ” He seemed to cut himself off before heaving a deep sigh of frustration. 

“These prototypes were important right?” Ilya asked. 

“ _Yes, sir…_ ” Thorn confirmed. 

“Well, it was either risk being killed and the prototypes falling into enemy hands … or using them to get rid of the droids,” said Aryanna, playfully apologetic.

“ _Well, I don’t blame you, sirs. I’m glad you’re alright._ ”

“Quite alright. I think those bombs can be put into mass production, if this is indeed their purpose,” Ilya remarked. 

“ _I’ll add it to my report, sir. Wait a moment._ ” He spoke to someone else, his words fading as if he had turned to face the other way. “ _We’ve got word from the_ Valkyrie. _The Separatists are retreating. That means we can come pick you and the cargo up and then return._ ” 

Ilya smiled. “Well, that’s good news. Tell Cruz and his wingman to take the wounded straight to the cruiser; they should get medical attention right away. We still have two gunships here.”

“ _Yes, sir. I’ll inform them._ ”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Aryanna. “See you soon.”

The two LAAT/is that had survived the huge blast were still circling the area and began to descend. Aryanna and Ilya scrambled together any remaining cargo that could be of value. At least the rations had survived. The two Jedi checked every last crate, ensuring nothing would be left behind, but they found no prototypes of any other kind that could fall into the wrong hands. 

They stacked the few surviving crates into the gunships and climbed inside, sinking to the ground against one of the cargo crates. 

“That sure wasn’t included in the texts about a Padawan’s training,” sighed Aryanna, suddenly exhausted. 

“Well, no one said it would be easy,” Ilya chuckled and handed her a canteen. 

The gunship doors had closed, so Aryanna could finally remove her mask, water pouring down her chest. She took an eager swig and then handed it back to Ilya. 

“Remind me to get new clothes from Coruscant as soon as possible,” he grumbled as she wringed out her top. 

“Noted.”


End file.
